


Into A Walled Garden

by Dameceles



Series: A Marriage Of States [8]
Category: Fire Emblem, Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, Culture Shock, Developing Relationship, Drama & Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, From Sex to Love, Intrigue, Long-Term Relationship(s), Married Life, Political Alliances, Slow Build, Worldbuilding, no Invisible Kingdom | Valla, pre-localization fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2018-04-10 00:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 117,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4370321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dameceles/pseuds/Dameceles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of an ambush, an accord is struck between two kings. A princess of Nohr for a princess of Hoshido- an arrangement of marriages for the sake of peace.  Now grown, the children in question must live with the arrangement. But is it merely duty to their kingdoms, or will there be more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Do Thee Wed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this AU the invisible kingdom, aka Touma | Valla, doesn't exist and neither to any of its native characters. Instead interactions of Nohr, Hoshido, and their inhabitants is the focus.
> 
> Chapters 1-16 were posted in 2015 and 2016, 17 on is "new" material made in 2017 and beyond.

 

"King Garon of Nohr has honored us with two betrothals. His daughter Camilla to your brother, Ryouma. And you, Hinoka, to his eldest son, the Crown Prince Marx." That was the first thing her father had told her when he had returned from a journey to the country of Chevalier.  
  
During that journey, apparently the two kings had met by chance on neutral ground and had come to an accord— an end to the war in exchange for an arrangement of marriage.    
  
Hinoka had been eight at the time. She remembered how at first she'd been silent with shock, unsure how she was supposed to respond to her father's announcement. Then her child self had gathered the courage to ask, voice cracking, "You mean, I can't choose who I marry?" _Who I love,_ had gone unsaid.  
  
Sumeragi had answered her as a king. "For the sake of peace Nohr's prince, Marx, must be your husband. This choice has been made for the good of Hoshido, because you are its princess."  
  
His answer had struck her as a heavy blow. There'd been no apology, only chilling finality— the king had made a decision, and if she refused she'd dishonor her title as princess. Hinoka couldn't remember what she said to her father afterwards, only that she'd run.  
  
Run until she'd found her mother and then cried huddled in her lap. She'd cried as only a child could. Cried over being promised to a complete stranger. Cried at the fear that one day she'd leave her home to never return. Cried at the unfairness of having no choice.  Her mother had stroked her hair and murmured comforts until her child self had quieted.  
  
"You may cry, my child, but please do not let your heart grow bitter." The words her mother had whispered into her ear were clear in her mind despite the years that had passed. "This promise has been made with hope, that you might know peace in your lifetime. You are strong and have a good heart, I'm sure the Prince will love you."  
  
At the time, Hinoka had petulantly spat that she did not want anything from Nohr's prince. But the words of that day, both her father's and her mother's, stuck with her. A piece of her future had been decided, but she could choose how to meet it.  Her mother was right, she was strong. Her father had reminded her that princess was a title, duty to her kingdom was her birthright.  
  
So as she grew up and left childish fears behind, Hinoka had decided to meet destiny head on. No running to hide, and no more tears. She would fight, and she would hope.

 

  
  
Hinoka remembered Ryouma's wedding to Camilla in the spring of last year with the cherry blossoms in full bloom. How her brother and his bride had drank from three stacked dishes of consecrated sake before the priest. How the Nohrian princess had been surprised by customary gifts of dried cuttlefish, kelp, and thread. Her brother's bride had appreciated gifts like a folded fan with fine lacquered wood framing more.  
  
It felt like she had been there just yesterday, yet four whole seasons had passed. Spring had come again and now it was the turn of Hoshido's princess to be wed.  The entire royal family save Takumi had traveled for four fortnights to the capital city of their neighboring kingdom and new ally, Nohr.  They had arrived one day ago, tired from the travel through the rugged foreign countryside. There had not been much time to rest though, as the preparations for the royal wedding had been in full swing and many formal documents for agreements to sign. Day had passed to night and then broken to morning in a flurry, and now...  
  
Hinoka now wore the traditional white kimono of marriage, cream makeup painted over her face and neck, the white tsunokakushi meant to hide her horns of envy. She wasn't sure what her mother-in-law could possibly offer for her to be envious over, as her groom was Nohr's crown prince so one day the title of queen would be hers. She wasn't entirely comforted by the assurance.  
  
"Prepared?" Sumeragi asked, taking her elbow gently.  
  
Hinoka didn't trust herself to speak with the anxious lump in her throat and stinging eyes, so she nodded and took hold of her father's arm so he could walk her down the aisle as dictated by Nohrian custom. When the Hishidonese royalty came before the entryway, two pages pulled open the massive doors to the sanctuary. As they entered, she took in the unfamiliar surroundings.  
  
There was no procession of musicians and shrine maidens to walk before her, though a quartet of stringed instruments in the corner of the sanctuary played an unfamiliar tune as she and Sumeragi took measured steps towards the dais where her groom stood waiting.  
  
The room Hinoka walked into was taller and larger than any structure back home, save Shirazaki's castle. The temple was built with soaring walls and a vaulted ceiling of smooth, unblemished stone of a dark color. Unlike a shrine in Hoshido the sanctuary was totally enclosed from the outside world, even the many high-up windows blocked the view and instead were glowing starbursts of differently colored glass. Although it seemed to the princess of Hishido to be a cold, claustrophobic sort of place to worship, it did keep out the storm which currently raged in Nohr's skies. The heavy rainfall pattered down on the windows and threw warped shadows across the floors. Countless lit candles made up for the day's dim sun, their flames shimmered from the perimeter of the room and cast dancing light against the walls.  
  
The majority of the room was taken up by rows of polished wooden pews and those who filled them. It was a royal wedding so only the invited could attend, and yet she was still taken aback by the size of the audience and how they easily fit inside the room. Among the crowd, Hinoka hardly recognized a single face, though they all stared unabashedly at her— some smiling, some curious, some regarding with clear disdain. She held tight to Sumeragi's arm as they walked down the center aisle between the filled pews.  
  
The second prince and princess of Nohr stood on the right side of the audience at the very front, along with Nohr's queen and the king's three concubines behind them. Prince Leo observed the procession coolly while young Princess Elise appeared to be near bouncing with excitement. Hinoka's gaze flitted past her future mother-in-law, too nervous to want to dwell on any expression the queen wore.  
  
Ryouma, Camilla, and Sakura stood on the left side of the front crowd, all smiled encouragingly at her. Hinoka thought on the past year and how happily her sister-in-law had lived with her family, refusing to let her heart sink at the thought that they would leave Nohr without her.  
  
The way the jacquard silk of her wedding kimono had been stitched together, the cloth wanted her to bow her head and yield. But she refused. Instead Hinoka drew her shoulders back and she raised her head, ignoring the wrinkles that resulted. Still it was a strain to maintain as they walked, despite her years of martial training. Hinoka could feel sweat gathering down her back and between her shoulder blades, dampening her hair underneath the headdress. Beneath the painted makeup her skin started to itch, the sweat would only worsen it.  
  
Hinoka wondered if her sister-in-law had felt so oppressed by her clothing on her wedding day. The gauzy white gown had been a shock with its sumptuous ruffles, see-through lace, and plunging bustline. But thinking about it now, that Nohrian gown must've let her at least breathe, even if the veils and skirts dragged and trailed in her wake.  
  
The thought made her remember how Ryouma had dressed a year ago. In the striped hakama, black kimono and haori of the montsuki traditional for grooms, embroidered with the white crest of Hoshido.  It was so different from what the man she was about to marry wore.  
  
The Nohrian prince was dressed in dark polished boots, black tailored breeches, a matching vest, a tailed coat, a white long-sleeved shirt and gloves, a white cravat cinched high on his neck, a purple sash and cape that was trimmed with white fur were held in place by a golden chain and broaches. His blond head was only adorned by a circlet made of black metal. Save for the cape, his clothing were all surprisingly form-fitting.  
  
The music of the string quartet quieted to silence as they climbed the steps of the dais that led to the altar before the looming statue of the dusk dragon. Hinoka forced herself not to squeeze her father's hand as he brought her forth to Prince Marx. This was the custom in Nohr, for the groom to stand separate and wait for the bride to be brought by her family and given to his. All the more time for the bride to break it off and run, Hinoka supposed.    
  
But what took her by surprise was the identity of the cloaked figure who had stood with his back to her and the audience.  She had assumed it was a Nohrian priest, but when he turned to face them— it was Nohr's King Garon!  Her body tensed and her mind wildly tried to think of why the king would stand at the altar to preside over a marriage, even if it was for his son and heir.  
  
Her father though took it in stride, nodding to the other king who nodded back. Then Sumeragi slipped his arm out from hers, and it took all of Hinoka's self-control not to reach for him as he descended the dais to stand with her family. Measuring her breaths, she turned away from the comfort of their familiar faces and stood facing the altar as her groom did.  It seemed to be the sign Nohr's king had been waiting for, as he raised up both his hands and began to speak.  
  
Hinoka felt herself exhale as King Garon's speech revealed itself as a supplication to the gods and his people to bless their union— that at least seemed to be the same as a Hoshidonese ceremony, even if there was no priest. But it did not last long, Nohr's king growing silent as he gestured to his eldest son.  
  
Prince Marx turned to face her fully, so she did the same with him. Hinoka guessed this was the stage in the ceremony where the groom read out the marriage vow, although he must've memorized it as he held no scroll or paper before him. Instead those dark eyes gazed directly into hers. Prince Marx looked as stern and serious as always, brow furrowed and forehead creased.  
  
If Hinoka hadn't been staring intently, she would've missed the way he licked his lips before speaking the vows.  
  
"You cannot possess me for I belong to myself. But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give.  
  
"You cannot command me, for I am a free person. But I shall serve you in those ways you require, and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand.  
  
"I pledge to you the first bite from my meat, and the first drink from my cup. Any that strike you will be striking me, to them shall be shown no mercy.  
  
"I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night, and yours the eyes into which I smile in the morning.  
  
"I pledge to you my living and dying, equally in your care, and to tell no strangers our grievances.  
  
"With the gods and people as witness, this is my wedding vow to you.  
  
"This is a marriage of equals."  
  
Those words had reached her heart and Hinoka felt overfull by the time Marx's vow ended. Without conscious thought her body moved— until she embraced her groom with a gentle hold. This close she felt his chest expand as he inhaled in surprise, but his body didn't tense up. Instead after a moment his arms rose to return the embrace, just as gentle.  
  
She heard a murmurs from the crowd, though she could not make out what was being whispered. The Hoshidonese princess knew she must've broken custom, but she couldn't find the resolve to care. Although she was glad in that moment for the cream makeup hiding the blush she could feel hot on her face.  
  
King Garon cleared his throat loudly and Hinoka felt Marx's hold slip away from around her. Once they stood apart, Nohr's king asked. "Hinoka, daughter of Sumeragi and Ikona, do you accept this marriage vow given by Marx, son of Garon and Ektrina? Do you take him to be your husband?"  
  
"I do." There was no hesitation in Hinoka's answer.  
  
"Then the gods and all gathered here bear witness," Garon's voice rang out, echoing against the stone walls. "To the union of not only Marx and Hinoka as husband and wife, but the joining of Nohr and Hoshido! Whatever may come, this day our kingdoms are bound by oath and blood."  
  
Her father had said something similar, a year ago at Ryouma and Camilla's wedding under the sun-dappled sakura trees.  An alliance, a marriage of states, this was why they had been arranged to wed.  In Hoshido the audience had cheered at the announcement, at the promise to the end of wars with Nohr, at the promise of peace.  But this crowd remained silent.  
  
"Bring forth the rings." King Garon's voice snapped like a whip.  
  
A page scurried up the stairs and held up a velvet pillow where two golden rings rested, one band bigger than the other. Prince Marx plucked up the smaller, then gently held her left hand with his gloved ones. She watched as he carefully slipped the ring onto her third finger, the one said to contain a vein that connected directly to the heart. Once the band was in place, he then proceeded to remove his left glove and she realized that it was her turn.  
  
Hinoka grabbed the remaining ring off the pillow. A perfect circle, with no beginning and no end. An ancient symbol, for love that was given will be given in turn. Setting aside the musing on symbolism, she touched her groom's hand— bare skin made contact with bare skin for the first time between them. His hand flexed in her grip, but subtly enough that she only felt it rather than saw the movement.  Ignoring the warmth and calluses of his skin, she slid the ring onto his finger until it rested snug.  
  
So it was done. The papers had been signed when they had arrived at the castle. The vows were spoken and rings exchanged. She was now a married woman, wife to the crown prince of Nohr.  
  
Hinoka thought that was the end of it, but before she could turn away from the altar Marx tipped her face up with his bare fingers. She didn't fight him, though it was a surprise. The positioning forced her to look him full in the face— in that moment his forehead wasn't creased with concern and his mouth wasn't the stern line it had been throughout the ceremony. Somehow that frail smile made his eyes brighter.  
  
He kissed her softly, on the mouth— There was a shrill whistle and then the crowd erupted into applause.

  
  
  


After the kiss Hinoka and Marx had walked down the aisle, hand in hand, as husband and wife. Once both royal families had exited, then all the audience been herded into the great hall of Nohr's fortress-like castle. Long tables had been arranged for the banquet. Hinoka's seat was beside her new husband at a table near the raised throne, at the right hand of King Garon. And her own family were seated just on the other side at the left hand of Queen Ektrina.  
  
While it was a relief to be off her feet, Hinoka found the Nohrian chairs a trial in its own way. All her life she had sat with her ankles neatly crossed, feet resting either on the floor or tucked slightly back and to one side. But these chairs were high up off the ground, and forced her body into hard angles— it stretched her legs strangely and she found it difficult to relax while her muscles protested. But with a few measured breaths from her core, her body finally settled into the alien posture. After all, she'd endured more strenuous stances during training— the trickiest part was that she'd only had a single day to adapt to this new posture.  
  
She'd have the rest of her days to grow accustomed to the tall chairs, Hinoka supposed, as the servants set about serving the dishes.  
  
Swiftly the long wooden tables were crowded with plates of steak strips with sauce, cream stew, buttery gratin, sliced cheeses, cut fruit platters, leafy salads, and fresh sliced loaves of white bread. Crystal decanters of grape wine, Makras red and Amusia white, glinted in the light of the lit chandeliers and sconces. It was all far different from the meals of home.  
  
Regardless, it all looked and smelled delicious. But then Hinoka glanced down and noticed the flatware— spoons, forks, even multiple knives! She could feel a sweat breaking out as she realized she hadn't a clue how to go about using so many.  Was there an order to it, from the outside in or inside out? Could she get away with only using one throughout the meal?  
  
A burst of sudden tittering laughter from the far side of the Great Hall made her look up, and Hinoka realized that she still had an audience— these unfamiliar Nohrian nobles would be watching her. They'd be looking for weaknesses, and even something as paltry as table manners could become ammunition used against her.  Her hands fisted into the silk of her kimono on her lap as she tried to stop them from shaking.  
  
A gloved hand brushing her fist caused Hinoka to nearly jump out of her skin! Glancing to the side, she found Marx looking at her from the corner of his eye.  With eye contact made, he reached under the table again and tentatively brushed the back of her hand. She wondered what it was Nohr's prince was trying to do, calm her down? Or perhaps... did he wish to hold hands as they had coming out of the sanctuary?  
  
Before she could do more than relax her grip, suddenly another presence stood just behind her shoulder.  
  
"My lady." At her elbow a smartly dressed, silver-haired servant held out a pair of chopsitcks, ivory with golden handles.    
  
Hinoka breathed a sigh of relief, thanking him as she accepted the chopsticks.  
  
Her husband withdrew his hand and shot the man a muted smile. "Thank you, Joker."  
  
"Tis an honor to serve." Joker replied, before he whisked himself away to see to the other guests.  
  
With the chopsticks Hinoka was able to comfortably sample the banquet's many dishes. Her husband and his family seemed to be content to eat without chatter which she was thankful for.  She did not eat her fill of any one dish, appetite only mild because of nerves, but it was good to taste what Nohr cuisine had to offer— she found none of it completely disagreeable to her palate. A good omen, considering her future contained much of the same.  
  
After the first course was cleared, Hinoka noticed the next consisted mostly of meat uncut and artistically displayed up their platters— beef, mutton, duck, venison, boar, pheasant —alongside bowls of desert like berry pudding, peach bavarois, and sweetrolls. Considering that Nohr's capital of Vindam was landlocked it made sense that there was a distinct lack of fish. But such variety in the platters of meat for one setting felt like a deliberate display— of what, Hoshidonese princess wasn't sure.  
  
It was with this change of dishes that conversation broke loud across the long tables— the clearest to her ear was the exchange between her father and now father-in-law.  
  
"So Garon, we haven't met face to face since the wedding in Hoshido." Sumeragi spoke loudly and clearly enough for his voice to carry throughout the great hall. "A pity the sun does not smile upon our reunion as it did then."  
  
With only the seat of Prince Marx between them, Hinoka heard Nohr's king _hrmph_ before he said, "Yes, well, despite any belief that I command the very clouds in the sky— the weather is quite beyond the control of the crown."  
  
"I suppose it's to be expected, what with how Nohr pays tribute to the Dusk Dragon. What better blessing than a storm like this?" As if the god in question listened in, thunder boomed in the distance. Her father laughed, "Whereas our patron deity, the Dawn Dragon, blessed us with clear skies and soft sunshine. It is proof the union of our children meet with divine approval, each expressed in their own way."  
  
"I am sure the gods would rather receive plentiful offerings from both our kingdoms than subsist on prayers for victory on the battlefield alone." Garon replied dryly.  
  
Hinoka held back a groan as she realized the two kings were verbally sparring.  It was better than them actually coming at each other with drawn weapons, but still— she couldn't deny the second hand embarrassment at how willing the rulers were to bait each other in public.  
  
"My king, I would remind you that today belongs to your eldest son and chosen heir." Queen Ektrina didn't even look at the ruler she was addressing, but continued to cut the food on her plate. "I would be so saddened if it wasn't a happy occasion for him and our new daughter-in-law."  
  
Hinoka never would've believed it if she hadn't heard it, but Nohr's queen had just chided King Garon! The constant din of the Great Hall suddenly dropped into a dead silence. All were holding their breath as they waited for the king's response.  
  
King Garon broke the eerie quiet with a sharp bark of laughter. "Well said! This is a happy occasion. Sumeragi, can you agree that we not bicker about who bested who... for now?"  
  
"Mmm, agreed. We have the rest of my stay to settle it." She could practically hear the smirk in her father's voice. "You have a wise queen, Garon. Pity I had not met her earlier."  
  
This time the Queen did turn her face to the speaker. "You flatter me, Your Majesty. But I admit, I look forward to getting to know your daughter, she seems most charming."  
  
"Yes, Hinoka does my kingdom proud."  
  
She felt the blush rise in her cheeks and was once again grateful for the cream makeup.  
  
"Your son seems very... mannerly."  
  
"Marx has always been of a disciplined nature." Queen Ektrina's tone was light, as it had been throughout the table banter. "I have no doubt that he will treat the princess rightly."  
  
It was surreal to be spoken of, without being directly addressed. But by the way Prince Marx hadn't so much as blinked, Hinoka guessed it must be a normal thing within Nohr's court. It did remind her of how roundabout praise was given back home, lest one get a big head.  
  
The quartet of musicians, who had up until that point been playing slow and soothing music, picked up the tempo and began to play bawdy songs that begged to be danced to. With a loud whoop Princess Elise jumped up from her seat and stole over to the left side of the head table. Hinoka realized that she had darted over to Camilla, which only made sense considering they were sisters who hadn't seen each other for the span of a year.    
  
From her seat Hinoka couldn't make out what was being said between them, but a piercing, "What!?" Rang out over the banquet's din, and then the blond hair girl suddenly stood beside her husband.  
  
Her lips were pursed in a ferocious pout, with even the slightest hint of tears edging her pale eyelashes. "Camilla says we can't dance until you do!"  
  
Prince Marx set down his fork and knife, and primly wiped his mouth with the napkin before responding, "That's true. The right of the first dance belongs to the bride and groom. It's not polite to precede them-"  
  
"Then what're you waiting for?" Princess Elise threw up her hands, exasperated. "Camilla's finally home and I want to dance with her!"  
  
Prince Marx didn't shake his head or sigh at the demand, if anything the softening of his mouth indicated that he was amused. "Prince Ryouma might want to dance with Camilla too, Elise."  
  
"Well then, you'd better get out there on the dance floor so we aren't waiting all night!" The blonde girl huffed, crossing her arms and looking her older brother square in the eye.  
  
Hinoka had to cough to cover up a chuckle that had escaped her— it seemed her husband's younger sister was quite different from sweet but shy Sakura.  
  
Suddenly King Garon's voice boomed over. "Yes, enough waiting. It's time for the first dance!" He clapped his hands and the servants moved in to clear room in the Great Hall for a dance floor.  
  
Marx rose from his seat so Hinoka followed suit, servants drawing the chairs further back so that they could move away from the long table.  Princess Elise chirped an excited, "Thanks!" Before trotting off to the left side of the head table once more.  
  
They walked to the cleared space, where about the edges of the Great Hall the crowd had gathered.  When they kept walking toward the hall's center, it hit Hinoka— A shrine maiden had not dedicated any sacred dance to them, but it seemed they were meant to publicly dance themselves.  
  
She caught onto Prince Marx's sleeve and he came to an immediate halt, quickly turning to face her. "This is not... " Hinoka wondered why she had not been told of this 'first dance' when being read the schedule of planned events. "My kimono is not made for dancing."  
  
Marx's expression became even more pinched, his eyes darted over her assessingly and lingered on the narrow cut of the cloth covering her legs.    
  
"Brother, I may have a solution." Nohr's second prince spoke as he strode up to them. He dipped his blond head at her, "So long as Her Highness has no objection to a little magic being preformed upon her?"  
  
There was a cunning gleam in Prince Leo's eyes that had Hinoka hesitating, but the entire room watched and waited. So she asked, "What did you have in mind?"  
  
The younger man smiled at that, the curve of his lips confident. "I've been dubbed the 'Gravity Master' because of my talent, and it's not an empty title. I can cast a spell on your shoes to make it so that your feet won't touch the ground by the slightest margin for a while. So long as you have an anchor you shouldn't have to worry about tripping or falling. Your dance partner should suffice."  
  
They both looked to Marx, who simply nodded. "I'll take the restriction of your skirt into account as I lead you through the steps.  You're meant to hold onto me during the dance either way, so support shouldn't be an issue." Both men seemed confident in the plan, so the Hoshidonese princess swallowed any doubts and nodded.  
  
The furrow of Marx's brow relaxed ever so slightly and he gave his younger brother a subdued smile. "Thank you, Leo."  
  
"My pleasure." The younger man replied smoothly, drawing out a tome from the folds of his cape. "If you'd please give her some support, brother. This spell can be disorienting."  
  
Prince Marx's hand took hers, while his other arm gingerly wrapped over the obi about her waist. Hinoka felt the beat of her heart start to quicken as she recalled that Nohrian dances maintained this sort of close contact between partners. Although the reaction seemed silly considering she'd be much closer than this to the man by the end of the night. Prince Leo's free hand made a gesture and a circle of glowing runes appeared— before vanishing with a flash. Then Hinoka's grip tightened on Marx's hand and she felt his arm draw closer in response as her feet slowly rose off the ground— and kept her floating imperceptibly from the floor, just as the second prince had promised.  
  
With Prince Marx's arm secure about her waist, he led her out into the center of the dance floor. Hinoka moved her legs as they went though her feet didn't touch the ground. She had to keep herself from laughing over the fact that she literally walked on air!  Once they were in the center of the floor, Prince Marx place a firm hand at her waist and directed her own to holding onto his shoulder, anchoring her floating form. His free hand took hers, and she allowed herself to not only look but study her husband's face.  
  
Prince Marx's head of hair was surprisingly lovely, golden blond with spiraling curls. His nose had the slightest crook to the bridge and was a little on the large side, but he had the kind of face where a big nose was flattering, offset by sculpted cheekbones and a strong jaw. The line of his mouth was stern and his brow seemed to be ever furrowed, and it made his eyes look smaller than they actually were. Although her husband's eyes were dark in color they shone with life, his gaze regarded her steadily however not scrutinizing. He was looking at her, acknowledging that another human being looked back— not looking through her lost in his own thoughts, or focusing on only one physical feature or another.  Hinoka liked Marx's eyes.  
  
"Ready?" He asked.  
  
"Yes." She answered.  
  
They were partners from this day on. Their dance began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extremely self indulgent "what if" fic, where I can focus on the politics of the upcoming game's setting. There will be inaccuracies in game lore, and I'm going off 70% headcanon for the worldbuilding. Also this is very much an examination of the characters based on my impressions on what little's been translated. If you like it, hope you'll stick around!
> 
> For those curious about the differences of the AU and game verse, I have the details posted [here](http://damoselceles.dreamwidth.org/2998.html) If anyone wants to talk to me about this fic or AMOS AU in general, feel free to send an Ask on [my tumblr](http://damoselcastel.tumblr.com/).


	2. Open Hand Begs Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some possibly triggering content is in this chapter. If that concerns you, please read this [page](http://damoselceles.dreamwidth.org/3090.html) where the warning is detailed. Know that the trigger listing also acts as mild spoilers for this chapter. 
> 
> Originally posted 8/23/2017, revised 4/8/2017.

"I bring news. Have you a guess as with what it might be, my son?" King Garon of Nohr had asked him countless questions throughout his childhood, but Marx remembered the answer to this one shaking him most profoundly to his core.

Just a handful of days after Marx had turned twelve years of age, his father returned from a journey to newly emancipated Chevalier and had abruptly summoned him to the great hall. When he'd entered the guards had parted the doors before him, bowing— to a young boy, who barely reached to their elbows. He remembered how at that age with small stature, he'd had to crane his neck to look up at his father who sat atop the dramatically raised dais and throne.

Faced with the king sitting atop Nohr's throne, his child self had been hesitant. Seeming to sense his uncertainty, Garon had goaded, “Well, boy? Has all courage deserted you?” A small twist of lips showed the intent for jest. “Come, Marx, have you a guess? Or do you mean to stare at me for the rest of the day?”

His father had not only smiled but had also been in the mood for playful banter, thus his child self had deduced, "It's g-good news."

"Yes! This news bodes well not only for our kingdom, but your personal future." He remembered how Garon had leaned forward, onto the very edge of the throne's seat. "Would you like to hear about the princess of Hoshido whose hand ensures your position as crown prince of Nohr?"

"A-a betrothal... for me." Although his young mind had worked out his father's implications, in the shock of that moment he hadn't fully understood. "But if I'm heir, what about Camilla?"

He remembered how the smile had become stiff on his father's face, the tone he had spoken in no longer playful. "Your sister is also betrothed, to Hoshido's high prince, Ryouma. And that is eventually where she will be named queen, so Camilla cannot be Nohr's chosen heir."

"But-"

At his protest, his father had drawn himself to stand at full height. "Do you question my judgment, boy?"

Marx remembered how his young body had shivered as Garon descended the stairs of the dais, stopping only once he stood before him. He couldn't recall what thoughts had gone through his head, just the general fear of disappointment and punishment. Then his father had knelt to look his child self full in the eye, though Marx had glanced away as fear and frustration warred in his young mind.

"Marx." His father had waited in silence until he'd returned his gaze. "It is good that you think of not only yourself. But that thinking must apply to not only your sister, but all of Nohr! These betrothals were arranged to end the war with Hoshido, but it is only the start. Peace will require much more hard work and a dedicated ruler to maintain."

Only with Garon's explanation had the full weight of the betrothal come down on him— that Marx would be the one to cement or break this promise of peace. When his child self had quaked with the realization, his father had firmly placed his large hands onto small shoulders.

"Son, we were born to rule. I can show you how, but if I'm successful your reign will be different— no, better than mine! A king who brought peace." The fevered light that had shone in Garon's eyes as he spoke these words was impossible to forget. "This is why I named you heir and why Camilla must go unite with Hoshido."

Even as a small child Marx had known there was a chance he would be named heir to Nohr's throne. All his instruction, training, grooming had been to enable him to fulfill such royal duties. But at that point, he'd never imagined the sister who'd been beside him all his life would leave Nohr— that some stranger would take her place at his side. His young mind had dwelt upon how that wasn't fair, his child self hadn't wanted a separation.

The sound of shifting metal had made his young eyes glance back to the doorway where the guards stood watch. In that moment came the memory of those adults in armor bowing to him— already they knew him as prince and paid him the respect due to one of the dragon blooded. The sight and memory had made him realize that his family, and all of Nohr, would gain no happiness from prolonged war. That as much as it hurt, he couldn't have everything he wanted. Even something as simple as his family staying together.

Garon's hands had released his shoulders, reached into the folds on his cape, and withdrawn a headpiece. It'd been a circlet made from blackened iron of a simple, twisting design. His father had held it up and asked, "Son, do you trust your father's judgment?"

With shaking hands his child self had accepted the circlet, the responsibilities. He'd accepted that one day his family would splinter, and that he'd cleave himself to someone who would not think of Nohr as home. Accepted that he must begin to think beyond his own fears and wants, and think like a king should.

“Thank you, my king,” Marx had said, his voice had wavered. “For this chance to serve our kingdom.”

Like many things, he could not forget that moment no matter the passage of time. So Marx had become an adult shouldering the memories alongside Nohr's burdens, and was determined to see every promise through. Even if that meant he'd have to expose his heart to a complete stranger, so that he might try to help her understand his love for Nohr.

The first dance and all those subsequent had gone smoothly. Despite the restrictive cut of her kimono, it appeared princess Hinoka had enjoyed herself. As Marx had often caught her fighting back a smile while he lead her through the steps of one dance and then the next, a hand firmly gripping the obi about her waist while Leo's spell kept her floating. Although his bride's gaze would dart to any nobility who brushed by them in their own dance, until there was a comfortable distance once more.

Camilla had coaxed Ryouma through a waltz and astoundingly enough the Hoshidonese prince had managed the dance with a weighty, rugged grace. Although Leo had shown that grace to be an inexperienced sort, when he danced with Camilla right after— the both of them flowing through a waltz like water, the steps so ingrained by a lifetime of practice that the movement was second nature. When his sister had danced with Elise on the other hand, the both of them had ignored the music and set their own tempo— twirled around each other like a pair of fluttering butterflies. And their antics seemed to inspire the Prince Ryouma and Princess Sakura to do the same. With the next song they stepped in a slow circle about each other, moving their hands in tandem— a dance unlike any seen in the great hall.

During the dances the noble guests who stood on the sidelines whispered, heads ducked together, their eyes darting from one royal child to the next. Undoubtedly spinning yarns about things they knew nothing about. But they weren't the only ones staying off the dance floor. Beside his mother, his father and King Sumeragi were still seated and conversing with a more private volume. With the music, sharp footfalls, and ambient chatter it was impossible to make out what was being said— so Marx tried to focus on guiding his bride through yet another dance.

The song currently being played by the string quartet slowed to its final flourish.

"Oh!" A hushed exclamation escaped princess Hinoka, who had been largely quiet and as observant as an hawk throughout the day.

Then he felt it, an abrupt drop in her center of gravity as the spell ended and her feet touched the floor. It happened just as they were about to turn, so Marx was forced to spin them in a tighter circle and draw Hinoka close as she regained her balance. Her hand over his shoulder slid down to brace against his chest, and was the only thing preventing the entire front of her body being pressed against his.

"My apologies," he said. Once she had her feet back under her he took a measured step back, taking his hand from her waist but keeping a light grip on her hand.

His bride began to shake her head, but thought better of it when the white hood on her bright red hair wobbled in protest to the motion. "No apologies needed." Her painted lips quirked up, and her hand did not try to slip from his. "You led well through the dance."

He felt his own lips twitch in response to her almost-smile. Instead he replied, "I'm glad."

But really, he thought an apology was in order. No one had told her of the first dance, and though she had performed well in the ceremony and banquet there had been an anxious tension holding her throughout. Part of him wanted to explain there and then why his father had rushed the proceedings and foregone a rehearsal, but the better part of him knew there were far too many listening ears at the moment to risk it.

Yet princess Hinoka was watching his face, and Marx should say something even if it was nothing important. Inwardly, he cursed himself. He'd always struggled more speaking face to face alone with one person than standing before a large crowd.

A sharp clap of hands cut through the din. "Enough dancing for now." Garon's voice rang out, commanding. "It is time for King Sumeragi and I to present our gifts to the bride and groom!"

The announcement was met with tittering excitement from the crowd. Those still occupying the floor moved to the sidelines- until only the crown prince of Nohr and the Hoshidonese princess stood at the center.

The wedding gifts from their guests had been taken to Marx's solar as each party arrived at Krakenstein Castle in the time that led up to the wedding. These presents had been waiting anywhere from weeks to mere hours, but King Garon and King Sumeragi's gifts were to be bestowed publicly upon the bride and groom during the festivities.

Marx felt Hinoka's grip tighten on his hand as the kings stood and approached them. When the pressure edged on being painful, he briefly squeezed her hand. That seemed to bring princess Hinoka back to herself, and while her grip remained tight it wasn't enough to cause him to worry over a crushed hand.

The kings were standing before them, Sumeragi's clothes of white and gold contrasted the dark hues of Garon's black and purple ensemble. The light from the chandeliers and sconces glinted off of their crowns, and somehow gave both of them the dignity that they were due. Marx saw Hoshido's king smile at his daughter, before he looked to Garon, "Mind if I present first?"

His father gestured the go ahead, and King Sumeragi raised his hands high. "For my son-in-law, a gift worthy of a bushi such as himself!"

As Hoshido's king crossed his arms the crowd to the left parted to let a large parcel through.

Two servants held between them a suit of Hoshidonese style armor in his house's colors. It was made of thin strips of lacquered iron joined and laced together with braided cords of dark violet silk. Marx was impressed to note that the knotting style of the laces had been made to resemble the crest of Nohr. The element protecting the torso was made of two large, leather-lined iron plates, the front of which had painted in lacquer was an image of a Nohrian great wyvern flying over jagged mountains. The lacquered iron helmet, well more of a open-faced mask, had three horns at the center of the forehead plate. The centermost spiraled up like he'd seen on older tenma, with the much smaller horns decorating either side. On the back jaw of this facemask were the gilt family crest of his house.

Although the suit of armor as a whole looked rather bulky compared to Nohrian design for plate and mail, Marx knew Hoshidonese armor was created to be lightweight, functional, and extremely flexible. They had records regarding this sort of armor— that a man could run for a mile quickly then turn around and fight a battle without being winded. And the suit Sumeragi presented appeared to be extremely well-made, if elaborate and highly stylized.

"It is through the mutual generosity of trade between our kingdoms that our blacksmiths have top quality metals to create masterpieces such as this!" Sumeragi proclaimed loudly enough so that even the wallflowers would hear his words clearly.

As Marx thanked his father-in-law for the gift, he heard the quietest of murmurs go through the crowd surrounding them. Not all the high houses were happy with the fact Nohr was exporting mostly ore to Hoshido. Some didn't believe the peace would last, and that it was better to force the eastern kingdom to continue to sift iron-sands in order to make weapons and armor— they didn't want to give up any advantage. But such worries were foolish when famine lingered on Nohr's doorstep. Just last winter it was thanks to the importation of harvest from Hoshido that large segments of the population hadn't starved during the snows.

So Marx didn't begrudge King Sumeragi for displaying the talent of Hoshido's blacksmiths. It wasn't a threat, so much as something that might possibly rankle Garon's longstanding rivalry with the man. The ruler didn't linger to boast over his gift though, instead he turned to fully face Hinoka once the armor was taken away.

Sumeragi once again gave her a proud smile. "For my beloved daughter... A gift to match her strength."

A purple-haired retainer emerged from the crowd, carrying a long object wrapped in red silk tied with golden string. She knelt and held it as the King Sumeragi carefully unwrapped— until a weapon was revealed.

It was a spear, remarkable in make. The blade was long, dangerously sharp, and seemed to have been folded in on itself half a thousand times until the Hoshidonese steel glinted red and orange in the light. The spear's shaft was the same iridescent metal, with alternating chips of topaz and ruby inlaid along the twisting pattern of feathers.

"In Hoshido we tell the tale of creation where both the Dusk and Dawn Dragon took a heavenly jeweled spear together in hand and used it to cut this world from formless clay. While I cannot give you Amenonuhoko, it is with my whole heart that I know you have the power to create a brighter future. This tonbogiri belongs to you, Hinoka."

"Thank you," she breathed to her father, as her hands reverently took the spear. Her hold was familiar and stance confident, with the weapon in hand princess Hinoka looked the most comfortable Marx had seen her. When the purple-haired retainer went to her side, his bride was very reluctantly set the spear back onto the red silk.

The watching audience clapped politely, as the retainer carried the spear off the floor. Garon waited until this quieted down, before speaking, "I have heard tell that my daughter-in-law is a knight of no small skill." He paused to give King Sumeragi a sidelong glance. "As much as it chafes, I must admit I had similar thoughts to yours."

His father snapped his fingers and the crowd to the right parted to let another large parcel through. Servants came rushing forth bearing a suit of Nohrian style armor, setting if before princess Hinoka for her inspection.

The plate pieces of the armor were made of glinting gilded metal, that Marx knew were an alloy lighter and stronger than steel— ideal for a rider with a flying mount. The pauldrons were overwrought, arranged with visible gaps that might have deceived one into thinking the suit was purely decorative. But the majority of the armor consisted of specially treated wyvern leather, which was as tough as chainmail and twice as flexible. Notably, rather than the standard blue cotton fabric with the black leather and gold plate, this armor had red silk- which created quite a striking contrast.

Hinoka's sharp gaze darted over the suit of armor, her expression serious with one hand lifted to her chin in thought. Finally a full smile brightened her face, like a ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds. She turned to face Garon, bent slightly at the waist, and dipped her covered head. "Thank you, father-in-law, for accepting my standing as a warrior. I'm honored to be seen as a martial equal in Nohr's army and within the palace halls."

Whispers went through the crowd as his bride straightened to stand tall again. There'd been plenty of rumors circulating through Nohr's Court about princess Hinoka before her arrival, supposedly from the Court in the east. Hoshido had different standards for princesses than those Marx had grown up with— where capability and the ability to counterstrike were considered a necessity for both genders of all statuses. Apparently her mother, Queen Ikona, had modeled their current ideal: demure, cultured, and a lover of peace, a woman who'd never touched a weapon during her lifetime. By contrast princess Hinoka's choosing to train expressly as a warrior her kingdom's old guard had seen as an act of defiance, not solely because of her gender but because she was a female member of the royal family. It was said she was called rude and impertinent, likely because the traditionalists in Hoshido thought that a man should be at the head of the family to protect the house and land. Marx knew for a fact that even if princess Hinoka hadn't left to marry him both of her brothers preceded her in inheritance, despite one being younger by several years.

He thought about whom he might introduce to the Hoshidonese princess to show her Nohr's military held different views towards women in command, as the servants returned to take the suit of flier armor off the floor. Pointedly, Garon cleared his throat and the whispers in the crowd died down. He took a few steps until he was standing before Marx, then snapped his fingers. A servant scurried onto the floor and bowed as they held up something draped in fur. His father spoke as he reached for it, "As it's raining, you'll need this."

Garon unwrapped the fur and handed Marx a collapsible umbrella made of waterproofed fabric and steel— a Nohrian adaptation of the Hoshidonese invention of the parasol. The room was silent as Marx took the umbrella and they stared at one another for a beat. Then, despite his best efforts to remain stone-faced, a snicker escaped Marx and his father immediately doubled over with laughter pointing at King Sumeragi's shocked expression.

"You, you should see your faces!" Garon managed between bouts of side splitting laughter, too entertained by the reaction of Hoshido's royalty over his gag gift. The gathered court joined in, accustomed to their king's strange brand of humor.

Marx allowed himself to laugh, until he spied princess Hinoka's wide and dismayed eyes locked onto him. Nohrians were not particularly known for their openness or generosity in emotion, which was likely why their Honshionese guests looked rather poleaxed by the assembled nobility and stoic royalty laughing openly. So the Nohrian prince fought the laughter down, and cleared his throat until he was able to call out, "Father-"

"Yes, yes!" Garon wiped a tear from his eye as he straightened to stand tall and proper once more, though still gave an occasional chuckle. Then he clapped his hands together, shouting thunderously, "Bring out the gift for the crown prince!"

The heavy doors to the great hall swung open, and an alarmed cry went out from the crowd as they scrambled apart- revealing a team of servants leading a fully grown, live animal onto the floor.

It was a tenma, with beautiful jet black mane, tail, and coat uninterrupted by a single strand of color. Dressed in polished harness, tack, and barding— it was ready to be taken out for a ride. It's body was of a smaller more delicate build than his destrier, but its feathered wings looked to be huge! More than enough to carry itself and its rider through the skies. Marx had the urge to walk over and touch the sky horse's wings, although they were bound by nets to restrict full extension and flight. The black feathers looked soft, sleek, like they were well tended but that was no surprise— the prices on sky horses with impressive wings within Nohr were phenomenally high. As the team came to a stop near where they stood at the center of the floor, the black tenma snorted with a toss of its head and pawed at the hard floor below its sharp hooves.

"The crown prince has ridden out in Nohr's name for many years now, for both war and diplomacy. He has shown respect to his peers, to his subjects, and to beasts of burden alike. It is only appropriate I now give him a mount that will allow him to ride alongside his wife in future peace, for many years to come."

Marx finally stopped staring at the animal to look over to his father, and found a Garon wore a self-satisfied grin. The crowd broke into abrupt cheers and applause. At the sudden noise the sky horse attempted to rear up on its hind legs, the nets on its wings creaked as they were extended as much as they could, as the beast strained against the bonds. Beside him, princess Hinoka gasped and drew her arms defensively about her middle. The team of servants leapt into action, coaxing the sky horse back onto its feet— but it was clear this crowded, enclosed environment left the tenma ill at ease.

"Stable this one beside my stallion, Froh," Marx instructed the servants. They quickly caught the harness and led the sky horse out of the great hall and to its proper place in the stables.

Then he noticed that his bride still stood with her arms clutching at her middle, a shakily blank expression on her face. There was a rigidness in the way she held herself that told him something was amiss. He stepped closer and quietly asked, "Are you well?"

"I'm... fine," princess Hinoka said unconvincingly gritted through clenched teeth. Abruptly she lowered her arms, only to nearly fold in on herself— without thinking he caught her by the shoulders to help her stand. This close Marx felt how she took deep breaths and exhaled twice as quickly, a method for trying to manage pain.

Looking up he caught his father's eye, Garon nodded. The Nohrian king turned to the crowd with a dramatic gesture of his arms, shouting, "It's time for the bride and groom to take their leave of us for the night. But I ask guests to stay and enjoy, for my cellars still contain far too much wine!" As his father laughed loudly, the crowds slowly joining in, Marx led princess Hinoka out of the great hall.

She tried to balance on her own as they walked, instead of leaning against him, but the moment they passed through the doorway and out of the audience's sight— his bride swayed alarmingly! But before he could move to catch her, another man was by her side. Prince Ryouma had a steadying hand on his sister's elbow and against her back, and spoke without looking away from her. "Is there somewhere private she can sit that's close?"

Marx motioned with his free hand down the hallway. "That door there."

The two princes helped guide princess Hinoka into the anterior room, just big enough for a low couch and chairs. His bride sighed as she sat down, one hand tugged off the white hood. Prince Ryouma knelt beside her, while Marx stood at her other side. He wanted to move closer, even sit with her on the couch, but was unsure if his bride would welcome such an invasion of space when feeling unwell.

"I'm sorry," Hinoka's eyes peeked up at him through her lashes. "I thought it was just nerves, but..."

"No need to apologize." Marx replied immediately, "Please tell me what ails you? Was the food..." He knew that the taste testers had sampled every dish equally before they were served at the banquet. But if the pain was in her stomach, could it be poison?

"Ah," Ryouma intoned, then looked sharply at the princess. "Father told us that milk from a cow tends to sour in our people's stomachs. Did you think you were exempt?"

"I wanted..." Hinoka gave a subdued flinch as she tried to relax her body against the couch's cushions. "...to taste everything."

"Stubborn," Ryouma flatly said. Brother and sister exchanged a glare, though one of mutual annoyance rather than some more negative emotion.

Milk souring after being eaten? That caught Marx off guard. He wondered if was similar to how Elise's skin would break out with hives if she happened to eat a dish containing some of the more tropical imported fruits, mangos if he recalled the name correctly.

Still he wanted to be sure, so he asked, "Is it your stomach that pains you?"

With Hinoka's nod Marx moved to the door, opened it, and found Joker waiting in the hallway— as he'd expected. Beside the butler a page stood with a large basket filled with staffs of different abilities and strengths. Both servants looked expectantly to the Nohrian prince, so Marx summed up the situation, "It's a case of indigestion."

Joker reached into the basket, and pulled free a slim staff with a pale gem. "This recovery staff for curing poisons should clear Her Highness's discomfort."

When Marx stepped aside the butler quickly strode into the room, walking right over to princess Hinoka despite the way prince Ryouma tried to stand in his way. The Hoshidonese prince moved to intercept the butler, so Marx called out, "Joker's here to use a healing staff." Which had Ryouma backing off, though he did quirk his brow as if the thought of a servant being a healer was odd. Without pause Joker held out the recovery staff and the gem glowed as he applied its healing magic to the woman resting on the couch. As the staff's light faded Marx saw the lines of her body visibly relax, and felt himself exhaling with relief.

Hinoka sat up properly, without struggle, and smiled. "Thank you for your help."

"It is an honor to serve my master's wife." Joker bowed, hand holding the staff tucked behind his back. "Although it'd be wise if milady declined dairy in the future, despite temptations."

Marx's brow furrowed at his personal servant's undertone, "Joker."

The butler's expression didn't change, but the way he stepped away from the couch showed he'd heard the unvoiced reprimand. He straightened and motioned to the doorway, "If it is permitted, shall I show you to your rooms?"

Before any of them could answer a light knock sounded on the open door. There stood Camilla, whose countenance was appropriately touched with kohl and rouge, while her belly barely showed the fact she was with child in the volumous skirts of her gown. A page nervously hovered behind the Nohrian princess, holding a basket. She gave her gentle smile as everyone turned toward her. "Our fathers and younger siblings are keeping everyone distracted in the great hall. I was excused to check, is everything alright?"

"Yes!" Hinoka near hopped off the couch and onto her feet, looking flustered though her cream-colored makeup hid any signs of a blush. "It was just a stomach ache, but it's gone now thanks to Joker."

The butler dipped his head in acknowledgement but didn't comment. Hinoka then hastily exited the room to stand beside his sister. Camilla's smile broadened, "I'm glad. It would've been tragic if something had prevented your wedding night from being anything but wonderful."

In the corner of his eye, Marx saw Ryouma cross his arms and had to hold himself from doing similar. His sister was very unabashed regarding sensuality and intimate acts, but he was not the same. Such open discussion of the impending wedding night before his brother-in-law and the servants had Marx rocking on the balls of his feet. "Camilla-"

"Oh hush. You'll get Hinoka all to yourself soon enough." From the way her eyes crinkled at the corners, he knew that Camilla was teasing. "Let me walk with you and enjoy her company while I can for tonight."

At her words prince Ryouma also exited the room, extending his arm by the elbow which Camilla graciously twined with hers. They made a handsome couple decked in formal wear with the bright colors of Hoshido, their long hair styled for the festivities. Camilla's smile looked genuine and though Ryouma stuck close, he didn't crowd her jealously. It looked like they got along comfortably. Although Marx knew he'd still ask how she was doing, when he caught Camilla alone during the week the Hoshidonese royalty were to stay in the castle.

Finally Marx followed suit and went out into the hall. As did the butler who placed the restore staff back into its basket then told the page, "Lead the way." He saw the child gulp nervously, but the page nodded and shyly asked that they follow him before he started down the hallway.

Marx lingered back as the others followed the page towards the east wing. Joker knew he wanted his ear and leaned in close as they began to walk. "Inform the kitchens to avoid serving princess Hinoka anything that contains milk," he whispered to the butler, and hoped that his bride's appetite wouldn't wane because of this incident.

Joker inclined his silver head, and he knew that not only would his orders be conveyed but the butler would be personally double-checking the dishes to ensure there were no mistakes. He smiled a silent thanks then looked ahead to where his sister, brother-in-law, and bride chatted amicably as they walked. Marx couldn't help but noticed how freely Hinoka spoke to his sister, seeming at ease and familiar they must've grown close over the last year in Hoshido.

He mused on what might've happened during that time, lost in his thoughts as they took the stairs to the second floor. The cadence of the women's voices with the occasional low tone from prince Ryouma made for a pleasant sound; the halls were unusually empty and quiet with both the nobility and servants crowded into the great hall. Joker quietly clearing his throat brought Marx back to reality, in time to hear the discussion ahead of him clearly.

"Unlike Shirazaki's castle the stone here causes it to grow quite cold at night, which is why thick blankets cover the down mattresses." His sister brushed stray strands of her trailing hair over her shoulder. "Of course, the beds are wonderfully warm with someone to share them with." He saw Camilla's free hand deliberately stroke Ryouma's upper arm, then the Hoshidonese prince's other hand rose to thread his finger through hers.

"Mattresses full of feathers." Princess Hinoka made a disgusted noise. "I swear, my bed tried to swallow me whole last night! I had to throw some blankets and a pillow onto a rug before the fireplace to get a wink of sleep." The three of them laughed at that.

A memory from a year ago came to Marx— Leo telling him the details of their stay in Hoshido during Camilla's wedding, which he'd had to stay behind from to deal with plots being stirred by the high house of Rucht. His brother had told him how they'd had to sleep on thin, stuffed mats called futons spread across the hard floor. He'd bemoaned how he'd found the blankets too thin and light to be a comfort, how he'd longed for the heavy weight of a comforter even if it'd leave him sweating. It seemed Hoshidonese bedding was yet another difference from how they lived in Nohr.

Beside him Joker suddenly quickened his step, overtaking the royals ahead of them to turn and stand at a fork in the hallway. "This is where you must part ways." He gestured to his left, "The guest rooms are down this hall, the page will accompany you to ensure you reach the correct room."

Marx frowned at how close Joker's words edged at a dismissal. But his sister simply let go of her husband's arm to give Hinoka a quick hug, before she stepped away and coaxed prince Ryouma's until he also hugged princess Hinoka. When Marx caught up with them, his sister turned and embraced him, leaning in to whisper, "Don't forget my advice." As if he could forget the sort of lurid things she had told him women enjoyed having done to their bodies just yesterday. When she moved back he gave her a flat look, but allowed a smile when she petted his bangs like she had when they were children. He looked to Ryouma and they both nodded with no need to exchange any further acknowledgement.

Then Hoshidonese prince and Nohrian princess were arm in arm once more. "You're not the only ones who will enjoy some privacy tonight." Camilla winked and disappeared around the corner with prince Ryouma following after the page.

Before an awkward silence could descend Marx moved close to princess Hinoka, offering his arm. There was a moment of hesitance but then she gingerly accepted, looping her arm with his as she had seen Camilla do. Joker asked them to follow and soon enough they'd moved through the halls, had arrived, and entered into Marx's private rooms.

Marx’s solar was a large, airy room with several windows which were currently shuttered against the storm. The room was dominated by a sturdy mahogany desk where he usually poured over official documents and wrote missives that helped keep the kingdom running. Some days he was there until late in the night, as it was much tedious work. But Marx was proud in the fact that he did not shirk his duty. Currently his desk was surrounded by makeshift walls of boxes— the many wrapped wedding gifts from guests, which would be ignored for the evening. He was grateful knowing Joker would already have prewritten thank you notes ready to be signed and sent.

"Oh," princess Hinoka said, as she looked at the stacks of boxes with a puzzled expression. "So this is where the other gifts are..." For a moment she glanced back and forth between him and the presents, before turning to ask, "Will we not be opening them publicly?"

Publicly. If they dared to do such a thing— every guest would jostle for front position in hopes of getting to crow over their gift being unboxed and how superior it was to all others. The Court would squabble over the event for months; pester both him and his bride over the appreciation of said gifts for even longer. Marx nearly shuddered at the thought of all those dandies and biddies demanding public praise for their generosity.

Princess Hinoka still looked at him, waiting for an answer. He resisted the urge to clear his throat and said, "No. The gifts belong to us, so we may unbox them at our leisure." It would be good if she also signed the prewritten thank you notes, but he could ask her when the task was at hand.

She seemed to be satisfied with his answer regarding the gifts and turned away with a nod. Merely glancing over the other items and furniture within the room. Joker remained by the doors to the hallway as they moved further in.

Marx's courage faltered as they walked through the solar and into his personal living chambers. A private bath had been prepared behind the changing screen, steam rose from the cast iron tub and filled the room. It might have been intended for the newlyweds to share, but that felt like a step too far— Marx didn't want to force his new wife into a compromising situation. So he bowed out, told princess Hinoka that the room and tub was hers until he'd returned from the bath house.

Joker had overheard the declaration and without delay the crown prince of Nohr was ushered into the castle baths to be prepared for his wedding night.

Marx unbuttoned his shirt, practiced in the movement thus his fingers didn't fumble at all. The crown prince of Nohr had taken to divesting his own undergarments ever since Joker had become a little too eager to assist him with clothing, years ago when they had both still been gawky adolescents. Soon enough he'd fully undressed; he left the wedding regalia in a woven basket left for their collection and grabbed a bucket which held a stiff, horse-hair brush and a bar of soap as he entered into the baths proper.

After removing the tools, he dipped the bucket into a tub of heated water meant for this cleansing stage which preceded the soak. Marx perched on one of the benches then scrubbed and soaped without thought, allowed himself to get lost in the automatic motion. The bathhouse had been cleared out for his exclusive use when he'd told Joker he wanted some privacy. And the fact that the festivities would be continuing in the great hall long into the night where the wine flowed liberally, ensured there'd be none waiting at the doorway to be admitted.

That done he rinsed then dumped the bucket at a drain, replaced the tools, and left it beside the heated tub. When he entered the water of the bath proper it was near scalding, just as Leo liked it though not to Marx's preference. Yet the hot water would prove good tonight. His wedding regalia had felt twice as constricting than his usual suit of armor, despite not being as heavy. And being the center of attention for the entire day by all of the gathered Court had left his whole body uncomfortably tense with unease. As he sank into the hot water Marx concentrated on relaxing into the bath and letting the heat do its work. He was twitchy enough as it was without going to bed with knotted muscles, it wouldn't do to add onto any further discomfort for his bride.

Sitting in the hot water, he thought on the reason for the ceremony being rushed.

The day the Hoshidonese delegation had arrived, Camilla had come to him and Leo, telling them how the moment she'd left Belka alone in Vindam a man had approached her retainer with a fat sack of gold. He'd promised her another of the same heavy weight if she assassinated Nohr's crown prince before the wedding. Belka had killed the man without orders, so unfortunately there was no way to interrogate and discover who it was that truly attempted to not only murder Nohr's ruling family but also destroy their alliance with Hoshido.

The news of the attempt to hire an assassin had been shocking. Partly by the foolhardy notion that such an abrupt deal without any planning could possibly succeed in assassinating him. Mostly from the boldness of the man and his funders to repeat the attempt, as Belka had been hired over a year preceding to kill Camilla before she could leave for Hoshido— only to be bought out by her target, becoming an impromptu retainer who traveled and lived with the Nohrian princess. It frustrated Marx that his efforts in skipping attendance to Camilla's wedding had been fruitless. As his brother had his retainers make inquiries and house Rutch had no hand in this plot— they'd likely been one front used by the true masterminds to take the fall a year ago and had since been discarded.

Still, his father had raged when the news was delivered to him. By the king's order preparations that would've taken three days were accomplished overnight and the guard within Krakenstein Castle had been doubled. Camilla had done a splendid job acting cool and collected amidst Hoshido's royal family, but they'd all been on edge and watching for possible assassins to come out of the woodwork. Even Joker, who had fired all of the temporary staff hired to assist with serving the banquet and taken up the extra slack himself, calling upon several favors to borrow the staff of loyal supporters to the throne. Thankfully it appeared that the rush had worked, the wedding and banquet had gone off with only one minor hiccup.

Marx felt his eyelids drooping, and gave in, allowed his eyes to fall shut and fully leaned against the edges of the bath. For a while his mind drifted, thoughtless and hazy... but then voices from the past floated to the surface.

_"Marx hasn't taken a lover, at his age! What is he thinking?" "Give me a few minutes alone and I could make a man out of him."   "He might simply be embarrassed, after all, he so hates to be a disappointment."   "It's difficult to attract a partner without making hard choices. Let alone trapped in a monogamous betrothal."   "Not all little soldiers can proudly stand at attention."    "Perhaps the prince is simply too much, I mean, consider his large stature." "You know how quickly he dispatches foes on the battlefield, perhaps his swordplay in bed is just as fast." "Marx is a solitary man, I'm sure his hand keeps him good company." "Still he's never taken anyone to bed. And the prince is about to be married!"_

_"I pity his bride."_

His eyes flew open as Marx sat up and tried to shake the years of gossip from his thoughts, hating that those remembered whispers came to haunt him now. Malicious court gossip was nothing new to him, just another of the hazards in his life as prince. He took a deep breath and held it as he slid down so that the water covered his entire head. He remained submerged until his lungs burned for air and he was forced to surface— but at least those memories had gone.

Cleaned and somewhat refreshed he got out of the baths and padded back to the auxiliary room. His body shivered at how much cooler the air felt compared to the water. Several towels and a stack of folded nightclothes waited in the place that the basket of laundry had previously occupied. Quickly he toweled off, carefully removing then replacing his circle when he ran the fluffy fabric through his hair. Once dried Marx loosely tied a cravat about his neck, put on a housecoat, and toed into the slippers. He then left the baths and padded through the more hidden servant's pathways to maintain his modesty and avoid unwanted interactions while he returned to his rooms.

He did not encounter Joker, even as he passed through his solar. And was relieved that at least they would be given privacy for the next step— consummating the marriage.

He knocked on the door to his private living chambers, not wanting to surprise princess Hinoka in a compromising position. He could hear muffled rustling through the wood of the door, then he stepped back as it almost flew open— loudly bouncing off the wall. The freckled servant girl who stood in the doorway with an armful of white silk winced, her small shoulders hunching. Her garb and the shape of her features suggested that she was a Hoshidan, likely princess Hinoka's personal maid. She bowed sharply at the waist begging pardon, before she scuttled past the Nohrian prince with her bundle and out of the rooms altogether.

As soon as he was inside his inner room, Marx immediately turned around and bolted the door against intrusion— out of nightly habit more than anything.

His bride knelt on the end of the bed, waiting for him. The face of Hoshido's princess had been scrubbed clean of the cream-colored makeup, along with its the doll-like visage. Now he could see her skin, rosy from the scrubbing, and found her over all to be vivid with life. When dressed in her wedding kimono, the strands of her hair which had peaked out from the wide hood he'd found strikingly red. Without the white silk and makeup, the color remained remarkable, and the uneven crop of her hair suited the shape of her face. He admitted to himself that he found Hinoka to be quite beautiful.

Marx forced his legs move towards the bed and swallowed a lump in his throat to ask, "How was your bath?"

"Pleasant." She replied, not turning her head to watch his approach. "Was yours?"

"Mmmhm," he toned in agreement as he came to stand before her.

Princess Hinoka looked comfortable despite the way she sat with her legs tucked under the weight of her body. She was also dressed for bed, but must've dressed only moments ago— there were damp areas where the wet silk nemaki clung to her frame, and he saw the outline of her hard curves. Earlier before the first dance, Marx had noticed the pleasing proportions of Hinoka's body: a slender neck, trim torso, and long limbs. Now with the many layers of the kimono gone, his observations were proven correct— she really did have a graceful set of strong legs. She was a tenma rider after all, a knight in her own right. It only made sense for her body to be firm and fit as any other active member of an army.

Her own eyes, a deep amber color, looked him over— though Nohrian nightclothes were far more obscuring. Indecision played along the taut lines of her body. Marx held his breath, his own frame tensing.

His bride shifted until her legs draped over the edge of the bed, then looked him in the eye. "Are you comfortable with this?"

 _Shouldn't I be the one to ask that?_ Marx swallowed back the question, exhaled. "Comfortable enough." That had her frowning, so he continued, "I'd be more uncomfortable delaying. As they say... nothing increases a feeling like anticipation." Her frown faded to a contemplative line and then a thought hit him hard. "But if you don't want to-"

"No, I do." She interrupted and gave him a curious look, one which he couldn't quite tell what went through her mind. "If either of us asks to stop..."

He finished the statement, "Then we'll stop."

Hinoka nodded, then motioned for him to come closer. Slowly Marx stepped forward, until he stood between her legs and her hands rested on the fabric of the housecoat over his chest. Her teeth worried her full bottom lip and turned the delicate flesh a shade of red, ripe like an apple. He wanted to lean forward, kiss her— he wondered if she tasted like the fruit, tart and sweet.

She reached up and wrapped her strong arms around his neck, which snapped Marx from his thoughts and had him leaning his hands into the mattress on either side of where she sat. Hinoka pulled him closer until she pressed her forehead against his. Her breath puffed against his mouth, his lips suddenly tingled with sensitivity. Hinoka's fingers ghosted up his neck and threaded into his hair, gently carding through the drying curls.

Just when he thought the anticipation was unbearable, Hinoka shifted, tipped up her chin and parted her lips. The slight movement caused her mouth to brush against his, light as a feather, but the contact felt hot as a spark. Marx went forward to cover the breaths width and molded his mouth to hers, shivering at the way her warmth passed into him.

What began as a chaste kiss quickly built hotter— a kiss that was tongue and teeth and burning, burning, burning. Fire erupted in Marx's blood, little tendrils of surprise and pleasure speared through him at the pressure of her mouth against his and the way her hands didn't stop roaming. The sensation of her teeth sent sharp crackles of lust down his spine and he breathed harshly through his nose. Yet the experience of her tongue sliding against his, her mouth warm and slick and open to him— when she moaned into his mouth, it sent vibrations all the way down from his head to his toes and made his knees grow weak.

His hands left the bed to catch hers, and allowed him to disentangle their bodies after he carefully pulled away from her lips. Marx’s headpiece had somehow fallen off onto the bed during the kiss. He groped until his fingers found the circlet, and he was able to set it safely aside atop a low dresser. Then he sat beside her on the edge of the bed, his breathing quick.

"You alright?" Hinoka's voice was breathy, a large part of him satisfied by that fact.

"More than alright." Marx glanced at his bride, then looked down to his hands where they rested in his lap. "I just... wish I could offer you more." What sort of lover could he be, nearly overcome by a single kiss?

"So that's what you think." She gave a _tsk_ then with a smooth swing of her long legs, Hinoka flipped her body over his and settled onto Marx's lap. With the motion her nemaki had ridden up her legs and bared them to Marx’s eyes. He resisted the impulse to place his hands onto her skin and instead met her gaze.

"Mind if I take lead?" She asked.

"No. Do as you will." He answered.

Theirs was an equal marriage after all, where one led the other would follow. And Marx was willing to bare himself before Hinoka's honest eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to [Isangma](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Isangma) for BETAing this chapter!
> 
> Sumeragi's gift to Hinoka is actually a naginata, Marx just sees it and his mind says, "spear". It's lame how the sisters don't get Holy Weapons of their own, so I tried to make up for that. And of course I couldn't resist a nod to the Dark Falco class. Garon's gag gift of the umbrella was taken from the fact that Umbrella is [listed as a weapon](http://serenesforest.net/fire-emblem-fates/inventory/swords/) in-game. 
> 
> If anyone's disappointed by the cutoff of Marx and Hinoka's wedding night, I posted a oneshot for just those details: [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4758647).


	3. World Beyond The Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 9/27/2015.

There was a voice. A muffled speaking that buzzed barely within her hearing, it disturbed Hinoka and roused her from slumber. For a moment she grappled with her sleep fogged mind— whether she should get up to stop the annoyance or try to ignore it and go back to sleep, even though she couldn't think of who might be talking so close to a bedroom. During this internal debate her body made itself known, and she smothered a small groan as she felt muscles that had long gone unused ache tenderly. Accustomed to setting aside the aches and pains left by rigorous training, she disregarded the feeling and finally tried to rise out of the heavy blankets— only to register two bands of weight that held her down. The clarity of wakefulness came to her and Hinoka realized with some mystification that she was lying atop something firm, warm...and breathing.

As breath that was not her own blew across her, the princess of Hoshido opened her eyes and came face to face with her sleeping husband. It seemed that sometime during the night she had settled comfortably atop his body— or likely he had been the one to settle her there. His arms rested around her, holding but not clutching; she laid stretched out over him with her legs between his own and her head on his shoulder. His chest beneath her rose and fell with even, unhurried breaths that accompanied deep slumber.

Hinoka's stirring and waking had not seemed to rouse Marx, so she took the opportunity to observe. His eyebrows were not furrowed low over his closed eyes, and neither was the press of his mouth hard, nor did stress line his features. In sleep, his face was completely at ease and he looked more his age of four-and-twenty. Unable to help herself Hinoka smiled at his relaxed expression and ran her fingers through his sleep-mussed head of blond hair, the fine curls hooked about her digits.

The heavy coverlet and tangled sheets hid their naked bodies— Camilla was right, the bed had become quite cozy from the shared body heat. It was dark in the room, what with long drapery of a thick material drawn over the windows and the fire in the hearth having died down some time in the night. Yet some light filtered in the crack beneath the door to the solar though it was dim. She was struck by how very insulated and quiet this bedchamber felt, so different from the first rays of the dawn and birdsong which woke her at the open rooms in Shirazaki.

Abruptly Hinoka heard the voice again, this time a muffled shout which was followed by what she could best describe as low hissing. At the sounds Marx stirred lightly and murmured something incoherent before his arms around her wrapped tighter and pressed her body closer onto his. This time she awake enough to realize the speaker must be the solar— and the Hoshidonese princess decided find out just who.

Hinoka deliberately slid one of her legs slid against Marx's, and his entire body shifted but he did not wake. Huffing out a short laugh, she moved her hand down from petting his hair to stroke at his face— fingertips traced his cheekbones and jaw, carefully around the delicate skin of his eyelids and the feather softness of his pale eyelashes, over the slightly hooked bridge of his nose. When she touched his lips her husband's eyes fluttered open, blinking heavily as he slowly shook off sleep.

Finally he had woken, though likely only by half, as his expression remained lax and his heavy-lidded gaze was unfocused. He stared towards the roof for a long while, then finally looked towards where she lay atop him. She watched as the realization hit Marx— his eyes widened with what looked like alarm tinged with embarrassment, and his throat bobbed as worked himself up.

Before he could do something like apologize, Hinoka brightly said, "Good morning."

The greeting and her light tone seemed unwind the Nohrian prince. She felt his chest sink as he sighed and he replied with a sleep-rough voice, "...g'mornin." Marx's dark eyes were still a tad unfocused as he gazed at her, blinking slowly. "Did you... sleep well? The bed wasn't too soft..?"

Hinoka fought the urge to tell Marx that his body was far from 'too soft' but knew in his current state it'd just leave him confused. So she simply shook her head and said, "I slept the whole night through in this bed." _With you_ , remained unspoken. "I was plenty comfortable."

Hinoka thought on the night before. After their coupling, she'd used the pitcher full of water and hand towel from the vanity to swab both their bodies clean. Her husband had fuzzily protested when she had. But Marx had been practically asleep when she'd used the dampened cloth on him, so he'd likely mostly been reacting to the cool temperature against his flushed body. That hand-towel and water was likely meant for now, something cool to splash on one's face and chase away the final dregs of sleep— that wouldn't work so well with the method for drying already soiled.

A large part of Hinoka wanted to ask for a bath, to wash the sweat and traces of last night's coupling off her body— after all a damp hand-towel could only do so much. But she'd seen how nosily the servants had emptied the iron tub when she'd finished the other night, and preparing it this morning would no doubt fully awaken her sleepy husband. She found his dozing endearing, although she wondered what his sleeping schedule was like during normal week.

Deciding to let the Nohrian prince stay abed for a while longer, Hinoka pressed her palms to his chest and gently pushed herself upright. "I'm going to see who's in the solar," she told him.

Marx made a short sound that had no meaning and loosened his grip so that she could slide off him and climb out of bed. She watched as her husband just lay there, not awake enough to properly readjust the bedding as he steadily slipped back into full slumber. So she drew up the blankets to his chin then retrieved her nemaki from the floor.

She shivered at the chill of the flagstones that seeped through the rug against her bare feet. Seeing that the rug ended well before the doorway to the solar, Hinoka put on the too-big slippers that belonged to Marx then shuffled over to and unbolted the heavy wooden door. She had to fight its weight before it swung open on silent hinges and revealed the lit interior of the solar.

Before this journey Hinoka hadn't had much experience with Nohrian architecture. She'd been exposed to the style buildings in other nations like Notredea and Amusia, the ones different from Hoshido fashion, but there was something even more different to Vindam. The build of Nohr's capital was so tall with such straight angles, the dramatic heights seemed to be meant to intimidate. Everything was made of dark-colored stone that could so easily crush everyone inside, an idea that frightened her a bit. There was no natural light except what came through the tall, slightly warped glass of the windows— instead candles, sconces, fireplaces, and lanterns were lit everywhere for illumination.

The antechamber to Marx's rooms was in line with her observations of Vindam as a whole. It was a crowded space, all plush Nohrian furniture in purples and browns with only just enough room to move about it— although the stacks of boxed gifts were not helping matters. The windows were doors, too, somehow: narrow glass arches that reached almost from floor to the ceiling, opened onto a kind of circular stone structure.

Hinoka looked about the solar contemplating, then she heard sound of footsteps from outside that open door-window. As she crept forward, a voice— no two voices, spoke.

"I shouldn't have to ask you again, but I will. _Leave._ "

"That's hardly asking."

"Fine. I'm telling you to stop being a nuisance and leave! You're not welcome here."

One of the voices sounded familiar... that silver-haired servant that had constantly appeared yesterday. What was his name again, Jester? Japer? Something like that. The other voice also sounded like a man, though younger... the cadence almost reminded her of Takumi.

"Prince Marx said I could come by any morning to walk with him to the training grounds!"

"This is hardly 'any morning'. If that head of yours wasn't completely empty, you'd know why the Prince won't be training today."

"He's never missed a session before."

"Tch. I'm wasting my breath..."

Quietly as she could Hinoka padded over to the open window, and found a balcony overlooking the castle grounds. At the center of the balcony were two chairs with a low table between them, all the furniture made of twisting metal save for embroidered fabric cushions on the seats. Hinoka looked at the table top where there were dishes set out, it was an Nohrian imitation of fine porcelain from Hoshido.

She remembered the history lesson where they'd learned about the time the territory of Fuuma had began to export tea across the seas to nations like Notredea and Amusia, and from there it had been purchased by Nohr— which then developed a craze for tea drinking. At that time they'd still been at war, so Hoshido had placed a ban of exports to the western side of the continent as well as imports— a policy which had lasted for decades and her father still had to deal with echoes of the sentiment. It sounded almost petty to Hinoka now, since the Principality of Izuma had taken up the slack in trading tea.

Looking at the Nohrian porcelain it was obvious that they'd decided to make the own teacups rather than wait for those of Hoshidonese craft. Actually... there'd been rumors at court that Nohrians made their porcelain from the ash of charred bones, instead of kaolin and petuntse. But the glazed white plates with delicate edging and carefully painted flowers, appeared to be made of a porcelain just as fine as the most lauded dishes in Shirazaki. Her musing on pottery and tea came to an halt as the conversation abruptly continued upon the balcony.

The young man stood with his back towards the solar, and from what she could see Hinoka didn't believe she'd seen him before. "You know the morning training isn't why I'm here." The young man gestured forcefully at the butler. "That girl, you nearly had her in tears with how you were acting like a tyrant!"

"So what? I'm head butler under the crown prince," Callousness and pride both weighed the silver-haired servant's words. "It's only natural I personally instruct a new members of the staff who will tend to him."

"Berating someone until they cry is the work of a poor instructor. And it's horrible of you to make her so uncomfortable when she's only just arrived at Krackenstein Castle! What if she starts to think all Nohrians are terrible people like you?"

The butler simply quirked a brow at his accuser. "Have I offended your sense of chivalry? If that's the case, it's misplaced. That maid is a peasant working a position above her station in need of training, not a well-bred lady in need of a knight-errant to defend her honor."

The choice of words caught Hinoka's attention, and she guessed at who this 'she' they were arguing over might be. Mozume was her maidservant now, something Hinoka would be eternally grateful over, but she was more well versed in crop rotation and how to plant a rice paddy than the skills of a noblewoman's personal attendant. Hinoka didn't care about that, more thankful that she'd willingly accompanied her to live in a far-flung foreign land for a position that hardly promised prestige. It helped the Hoshidonese princess's confidence in knowing there'd be one more familiar face staying by her side. Although Mozume's change in class status would've never been tolerated in Hoshido— if they hadn't both been headed to Nohr, she's sure the feudal lords would've thrown a fit. But it seemed they hadn't totally escaped trouble, as Marx's butler wasn't so willing to overlook Mozume's humble origins and lack of training.

That thought had Hinoka stepping out onto the balcony, she cleared her throat before the men could argue further. The silver haired servant's eyes snapped up from where he'd been arranging cutlery on the table to where she now stood in the open. Impressively he didn't even flinch, but instead bowed smoothly and greeted, "Good morn, milady. I beg your patience as breakfast is still being brought up, but if there is anything you need don't hesitate to ask."

"Milady!?" The young man near-squawked as he whirled around then stared at Hinoka with wide eyes.

She'd been right about his age, his cheeks still had the soft curve of childhood that clung to some adolescents even in later years. His coloring was unusual, though perhaps more common in Nohr— hair styled in a dramatic upward sweep from his forehead was a cool grey that emphasized the paleness of his skin. The green of his eyes were perhaps the lightest shade and color she'd seen on a Nohrian yet.

They stared at each other for a beat and didn't speak. Then the butler sighed, and said, "Pardon this oaf's lack of manners, Your Highness. Sir Cyrus was knighted only recently, and erroneously believes he can go through life ever the wide-eyed squire."

A hot blush immediately blossomed over Cyrus's face, even the tips of his ears turned red. Then he bowed and went so far as to go down on bended knee, as he ducked his head. "Forgive my rudeness, Princess." He spoke hastily, clearly flustered. "I hadn't intended to disturb your privacy, but I shouldn't have let Jakob distract me so completely."

Hinoka wasn't entirely sure why she was so surprised, but the young man's earnest apology wasn't what she'd expected from an infamous knight of Nohr— though that was uncharitable of her. She doubted with his tender age that he'd been on any of the military campaigns that Hoshido's court so loved to defame Nohr for. Either way, him on his knees felt awkward so Hinoka said, "You're forgiven, there's no harm done. Please stand, Sir Cyrus, was it?"

The young man lifted his head then stood, still blushing but not as hotly as before. "Thank you, Your Highness. Yes, my name is Cyrus. I am a son of high house Hardt, and protégé to the honorable Sir Gunther who acts as Prince Marx's right hand." His eyes which had been resolutely avoiding hers then momentarily met her gaze. "We shall be seeing each other often I'm guessing. Please know I am fully at your disposal."

Was this a promised of fealty? Hinoka wasn't quite sure. More than likely Cyrus simply extended the same courtesies afforded to her husband, rather than something as dramatic as changing masters. So she nodded at him, unsure if there was a proper response. This seemed to placate the young man though, a subtle smile graced his lips as he dropped his gaze.

That out of the way, the Hoshidonese princess hadn't forgotten her reason for coming out here. Hinoka looked to the butler and put some authority into her tone, "Who were you two discussing earlier, Jakob?"

The instant that name passed her lips Hinoka noticed tension enter into the silver-haired servant's frame, his movement no longer fluidly graceful but slightly halting. His expression hadn't changed however, a polite smile that she was beginning to think he used as a mask. "We were discussing the newest addition to the castle's staff, milady. Your maid, in fact." Before she could ask for exacts, the silver-haired servant continued, "And if I may be so bold, please use the nickname of 'Joker' which Prince Marx has bestowed upon me."

"Joker?" He nodded. So she had remembered along the right lines earlier. "But, why did Cyrus call you Jakob?"

What might've been the dirtiest look Hinoka had ever witnessed was sent from Joker to the young knight, but then the polite mask was back in place. "Jakob is the name my parents, lord and lady of high house Khilk, gave me at birth. I'm afraid it's simply that no one save Cyrus uses it— and honestly it's not to my preference."

From the increased tension in the lines of his body, it was clear that the silver-haired servant didn't want to explain further and disliked having to explain it at all. 'Joker' was a strange nickname, especially to prefer it to a more normal given name, but she decided against hounding the mercurial servant for the story behind it. So she said, "Alright, Joker."

The tension noticeably dissipated from his frame and he started to turn back to setting the table.

There was a loud knock on the door which lead from the solar to the hallway, then it swung open and a pair of Nohrian maids in their black and white ensemble wheeled in a small metal chart laden with covered platters. They both bowed to Hinoka, though the blonde one with more poise than the brunette, then the former uncovered the platters. The serving plates were small but many and consisted of grilled sausages, barely porridge, fried eggs, slices of white fruit with red skin, and toasted white bread with butter and jams. A far different spread than the typical breakfast of rice, grilled fish, miso soup, sticky soy beans, and nori seaweed served at Shirazaki.

As she breathed in the smell of the freshly prepared food Hinoka felt as her mouth watered and she swallowed, realizing how hungry she was after a long day and active night. The blonde maid took up two platters, one balanced on each arm, and strode out to the balcony. The brunette maid did not follow suit, however, instead she walked over to Hinoka with her head ducked. Her hands clutched at the front of her apron, holding it low, and it looked like she was trying to keep her thighs pressed together as she moved— the maid looked to be completely uncomfortable with her uniform.

"U-uh, um..." The brunette maid stuttered, finally revealing her freckled face, "P-Princess Hinoka, c-could ya..."

This maid wasn't a Nohrian at all, it was Mozume! Hinoka hadn't recognized her with hair pulled back into an elaborately braided bun with a ruffled headpiece in place of her usual paper roses. She looked more closely at the outfit. A triangle of her back was bared, while a feathered collar was cinched high on her neck, its black skirt was short, bell shaped, and trimmed with dark feathers. A white half-apron barely covered the top of her thighs, despite its bow and long trailing ribbons; her legs where covered by black sheer stockings held up with lacy garters. She had on Nohrian style shoes that forced the wearer to walk on the balls of their feet because of its high heels— Hinoka didn't blame Mozume for looking as uncomfortable as she must've felt.

"Mozume!" The Hoshidonese princess fought the urge to shield her handmaiden from the other eyes in the room. "Why're you wearing this?"

"Mister Joker said Ah had'ta." Mozume glanced towards the open window and defiantly narrowed her eyes, "Said all _proper_ maids dress'd like this." Her freckled face twisted with disgust as she gave the half-apron a harsh tug downwards.

"Mozume!" Joker suddenly barked and his head leaned in to peer through the open space of the window. "Where's the rest of the platters?"

Mozume's shoulders immediately hunched, despite her grip remaining on the half apron. Her eyes pleadingly looked to Hinoka. The Hoshidonese princess felt her spine straightening as she steeled herself to turn from her maidservant to face Marx's obnoxious butler— but then Cyurs stepped in.

"Here, I can get the rest." The young knight threw a boyish grin at her and Mozume as he uncovered the remaining trays, arranged them two on each arm, then brought the platters out to the balcony. Hinoka wasn't even able to thank him, before Joker's head ducked away and she heard him grousing at the younger man.

With only she and Mozume in the solar, Hinoka leaned in close and said, "You have my permission to go change into your regular clothes. Then please have water for a bath in these rooms prepared? By the time you're done I'll have Joker sorted out."

"Yes, Yer Highness," the handmaid dipped in a bow and finally let go of the half apron. Once she had the door to the hallway open, Mozume quickly dashed away and out of sight.

Now all that was left was to face the proverbial dragon. Hinoka sighed, rolled her shoulders and murmured under her breath, "You can do this, Hinoka. You're a princess married to his master, the butler has to listen to you... And you'll think of a way not to make Joker hate you for lording it over him." Not her best pep talk, but it'd do— Mozume deserved better treatment.

The Nohrian maid brought one last platter to the table that held a small pitcher of orange colored juice, a silver decanter and little containers of cream and sugar, empty drinking glasses and teacups upside-down upon saucers. Joker nodded in approval, unloaded the platter and set everything in what he deemed was its proper place.

"If that is all please return to the kitchens." The blonde maid gave a shallow bow, but when she turned towards the solar Joker added, "Oh, and take that useless lump with you."

Cyrus' answering sigh sounded more exasperated than anything, and while the maid glanced at the young knight she made no move to accost him. Though the princess of Hoshido wasn't sure what sort of relationship the two men had, it seemed to have an edge— so she doubted Joker would appreciate being lectured in front of the knight.

"Sir Cyrus?" The young man seemed to snap to attention as he met her gaze in full.

"Would you be so kind as to leave the rooms? Mozume is fine, and there's something I'd like to discuss with Joker in private."

Those big, green eyes blinked and she could've sworn he was mouthing 'Mozume', before Cyrus smiled with a nod. "Of course, Your Highness! Again, a thousand pardons for disturbing your privacy." He then turned and strode through the solar to the hallway door where the maid with the silver cart had just exited. Just as the door was closing he called back, "Enjoy breaking fast!"

With the door clicked shut it was just Hinoka and her proverbial dragon, hopefully this talk wouldn't wake her sleeping husband in the next room. After a fortifying breath Hinoka turned to face Joker fully, and found that he watched and waited. So she cut to the chase, "Why did you tell Mozume to wear that outfit?"

"That is the required uniform for all maids who work in Krackenstein Castle." There was no change in expression to his polite smile. "I was simply taking the first step in her training, as she is your maid and there are standards."

Hinoka had to keep herself from blowing out an annoyed breath. The butler was right in that Mozume lacked training and should receive a teacher for such. But from what she'd overheard and seen that morning Joker wouldn't be patient or comforting about it, and Mozume had enough grief to carry as it was. So she told him, "My handmaid doesn't need that uniform."

Joker's brow grew pinched. "But if she does not wear the uniform, it would reflect badly on Prince Marx-"

Hinoka'd had enough. "Mozume is a personal maid to a princess of Hoshido. We do not need Nohrian uniforms!"

At this Joker's mouth snapped shut.

"Orochi will be remaining in Nohr for six months, and I'll leave the training of Mozume in her hands." Her tone brooked no argument. "So please don't trouble yourself with my maidservant, Joker."

The butler looked visibly pained at the thought, but still bowed and said, "As you say, my lady."

Hinoka nodded, flush with victory and the slightest embarrassment as she was unsure what to say next. As she stood there trying to plan her next move, she watched as the butler upturned one of the teacups and proceeded spoon two lumps of sugar then he poured steaming, dark liquid from the silver decanter into it. Hinoka's nose was hit by an unmistakable fragrance— Notredea coffee, freshly brewed. She had sampled the drink in the past when her father had taken her on a trip to the isle, it'd proven robust and too bitter for her tastes. But the smell remained enticing nonetheless.

"Is that coffee?" She spoke her wondering aloud without meaning too.

Yet unruffled, Joker answered smoothly, "Yes. His Majesty has it imported from Notredea especially for the royal family." There was a peculiar gleam in his eye when he met her gaze, "I personally bring a cup to Prince Marx every morning."

"Oh." She remembered how the drink was said to be invigorating, especially for the drowsy. She found her mouth running away again as she asked, "Can I bring it to him this morning?"

Joker froze up, but between one blink and the next, he had stepped to her side and presented the full cup and it's saucer. She took them from his hands, hold momentarily wobbling but thankfully she didn't spill a drop. Hinoka made sure to smile at the butler, "Thank you for understanding, Joker." Then she gingerly turned in the too-big slippers and shuffled through the solar.

The silver-haired servant had guessed her intentions and had gone before her, opening the door to the private chambers so she did not have to stop to do so.

The light from the solar flooded into the dark room, revealing the clothes on the ground and rumpled blankets. The Nohrian prince was right where she'd left him with the covers tucked under his chin, face peaceful in sleep. Moving carefully, Hinoka sat down on the edge of the bed and placed the cup of coffee in her lap. The aroma worked it's magic and she watched as Marx stirred then woke— his dark eyes fluttered open then focused on her rather than remaining hazy like the first time.

"...morning again?" His brow creased, as he evidently remembered waking earlier but not having fallen back asleep.

Hinoka couldn't keep in a laugh, "Yes! Here, this should help." She showed her husband the cup of coffee and felt as he slid beneath the covers until he was sitting up with the blanket and sheets at his waist. With the light from the open door, she could count the number of small bruises her mouth had left on his pale skin from the night before and Hinoka fought a blush. She felt strangely satisfied by their presence on the strong column of his neck.

Marx took the porcelain cup by its spindly handle, raised it to his mouth and took a long draw. When he swallowed though, it was with a frown. "Needs cream," he muttered.

"My prince," Joker called out and suddenly reminded the both of them of his presence at the door.

The butler's eyes were averted from the bed, however, as he said, "There is cream just out on the balcony. The meal for breaking fast is ready when you're dressed."

Hinoka had to spring onto her feet when the coverlet was violently tugged from under her. A wide-eyed Marx had drawn it back up to his chin with the hand not holding the half-drank cup.

"Thank you, Joker. I will dress myself," the Nohrian prince said in a rush, pointedly looking away from the silver-haired servant.

She didn't pay attention to the butler as he bowed and kicked an object under the door to prevent it from closing before he left. Instead she tried to puzzle out why her husband looked so mortified about being caught in a state of undress within his own private chamber? She watched has he swallowed nervously then glanced over the floor, eyes stopping at a particular point. "Could you please hand me that cravat?"

As she scooped up the cloth and took the cup in exchange, Hinoka realized that was the piece she needed to understand— it was the fact that his neck had been uncovered.

Years ago when her father decided her training as a bride should begin in earnest, Sumeragi had brought over a Nohrian teacher of etiquette in addition to the tutors local to Shirazaki. That woman had dominated the lessons with a voice like thunder, proclaiming that Hinoka needed to be prepared from the dangers of Vindam rather than the expectations of Hoshido. One lesson that the teacher had repeatedly touched upon was the fashion taboo of an uncovered neck— in Nohr it was almost a superstition that only foolish and immoral persons bared their neck in public. The Nohrian woman had insisted that Hinoka only ever uncover her neck in the privacy of her own rooms or while bathing, as any other instances would make Nohr's nobility question her quality as a well-bred lady. The teacher had so hounded her about it that Hinoka had taken to wearing a long scarf about her neck when her clothing didn't already have a high collar, and now the scarf was habit.

Hinoka had though it odd that Marx had worn that cravat last night just to take it off, but now that she remembered that lesson all made sense. Nohrian fashion was still baffling in the fact that _only_ the neck garnered such a reaction— the amount of skin she'd witnessed bared by the nobility seemed much more shocking to her own senses. After setting the saucer and cup down on a low dresser, she picked up and shook out the heavy robe which Marx had worn the night before. By the time she'd turned to hand it to her husband he had tucked the white cloth about his neck, but his eyes were grateful as he accepted the robe. He pushed his arms through the sleeves before sliding out of bed and standing, finally able to tie it closed.

He glanced again at the floor and suddenly looked to be fighting a shift in expression. "Are those my slippers?" He pointed to the footwear in question.

Hinoka nibbled on her bottom lip before she answered, "Yes. I stole them, the floor was cold."

The line of his mouth was stern, yet his eyes were not, as he said, "I'll tell Joker to have a pair like them made for your size." With only a considering glance to the pitcher of water on the vanity, Marx picked up the cup and saucer then walked into the solar— heedless of the cold flagstones under his bare feet.

"Wait!" Hinoka hurried after him and took off one slipper when he stopped and turned to face her. She balanced on one foot and stretched out her arm, "Don't you want them back?"

At her words a hint of a smile curved Marx's his lips and shook his head, "No. I'm accustomed to the cold." He continued to stand and wait until she'd placed the oversized slipper back onto her foot. Then her husband offered his elbow like he had last night and they walked together.

They both went out to the balcony and sat down for breakfast. Rather than handing her a pair of chopsticks, Joker volunteered to help Hinoka with the full display of cutlery that had been set out on the table— and the Hoshidonese princess was convinced it was his way of getting back at her. Still, the breakfast was delicious and she found that Marx was more inclined to talking while they ate this morning answering her questions about the castle . She was pleased when her husband didn't flee the rooms with the bath that followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the idea that Nohr fashion dictates a covered neck comes from the fact that all the portraits of Nohrian characters have high collars or something covering their necks- even the stripperwear worn by warriors and dark mages. The exceptions are Zero and Flannel, both of whom don't quite adhere to "proper" Nohrian standards anyway. Course I brainstormed this all up BEFORE Kozaki started making all the "casual clothes" doodles- so yeah. I'm still going to have it be a thing.
> 
> Also I made up some last names for Joker and Cyrus since they're both from noble houses. Will become relevant once court intrigue comes into play.


	4. Swords, Thorns, and Injury - part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some possibly triggering content is in this chapter. If that concerns you, please read [this page](https://damoselceles.dreamwidth.org/3579.html#cutid1) where the warning is detailed. Know that the trigger listing also acts as mild spoilers for this chapter.
> 
> Originally posted 10/29/2015, revised 4/8/2017.

After breakfast together they had bathed, groomed, dressed, and finished their preparations for the day. Marx had offered a tour for Hinoka through Krackenstien Castle. When she’d agreed instead of demanding that she walk a set number of steps behind him, her husband had held out his hand and asked her with an even tone if she'd like to accompany him. Exploring the grounds with the Nohrian prince personally sounded much more appealing to the Hoshidonese princess than being handed off to some stranger— and it gave her another chance to observe the man she’d be spending the rest of her life with.

The full tour started from inside Krackenstein Castle and worked its way out. Marx only touched on the bedrooms, cabinets, and solars of the various wings of the upper ward— as they were numerous and Hinoka only really needed to remember the locations of a handful. His personal chambers were in the private apartments of the royal family, the king’s and queen’s suites just a hallway down. Her husband explained that while he was crown prince they would share a room, but once he’d ascended the throne that Hinoka would have her own private suite. Idly the Hoshidonese princess wondered if everything she brought from home would fit into his already crowded rooms— mostly she was thankful she wasn’t a vain creature of the court with a sea of clothing.

She only got a glance at the tall doors to the library, as Marx confided those were the places where many of the noble guests would be whiling their time away— so they instead snuck by and then descended a level. For similar reasons they passed by the sanctuary, the terraces, the great hall, and its adjoining rooms. Her husband showed her several paths to find the bathhouse of Krackenstein Castle, the build of which was similar to baths in the temples of Hoshido. Next they toured the kitchens; some might've considered it unnecessary as it was the domain of servants but Hinoka appreciated the practically of knowing. The rest of the lower ward was other such work rooms: buttery, larder, pantry, ice house, laundry, storerooms, undercroft, guardroom, and a wing of servants' quarters which was connected to discrete passages that ran throughout the castle. Marx declined on touring the lattermost area because of how busy the castle was with many guests, ongoing festivities and how their presence would require the castle staff to stop whatever they were doing and show the proper respect. He offered to given her that tour on a later date, but Hinoka didn't mind letting the servants have their privacy.

They did not descend to the castle’s lowest levels, beyond circling through the wine cellars. Although Hinoka was quite sure she knew what lay beneath: dungeons, interrogations rooms, and other such ugly places. One day she would know for certain, but the Hoshidonese princess was fine with leaving that particular tour for the distant future.

Their first destination beyond the castle’s interior was walking the battlements and parapets, from which they peered through the crenelations down at the dramatic drop to the moat far below. Hinoka noticed that the outdoor grounds surrounding Krackenstein Castle were either hard cobblestone paths or mixtures half sand, half gravel that proved relatively yielding underfoot. There was a notable lack of greenery despite the fact they were currently under the open skies, completely the opposite of the grounds at Shirazaki’s palace with manicured grasses and carefully tended trees. The Hoshidonese princess wondered if it had anything to do with the heavy, grey clouds that seemed to perpetually hide the sun away in Nohr.

Then they visited the mews, where the birds of prey and wyverns were housed— adjacent rather than together. Hinoka knew that the lesser dragons were common on the western half of the continent, but seeing so many in one place was an undeniable reminder that she was no longer under Hoshido’s clear skies. She was secretly relieved they didn’t linger in the tower-shaped mews, as the wyvern's dens had a pungent odor.

She was glad when Marx went to the sprawling stables and told her that she had access to them at any time day or night. It meant Hinoka could keep to her habit of early morning flights, so long as she woke in time. The stables’ building itself was huge and filled to the brim with many fine horses, in addition to rooms for the tack and barding. The closest she’d ever seen in Hoshido were the stables for the tenma warriors, and even her memory didn’t compare to the sheer number of mounts housed within the castle. Few feudal lords in Hoshido owned a horse, preferring golden kites or tenma for riding, the long war with Nohr’s cavalry had made using them as a mount unfashionable. Yet after having traveled through Nohr’s countryside for over a week Hinoka could see why most of them rode on horseback or flew by wyverns’ wing, as their territory was immense and might take too long to patrol on foot. Enclosed carriages were also a popular mode of transportation here; she’d only seen them pulled by teams of horses— none of the open ox carts which could be found in the farming villages back home.

It was there at the stables that they encountered both of their younger sisters. Elise had brought Sakura outside to show off her pony. The blonde girl had practically shrieked when she spied them then had stuck like a burr to Marx's side. So Hinoka had asked them both to join in on the tour— which her husband had agreed upon rather than protested. Although Hinoka yearned to linger at the stables and visit her tenma, she didn’t object when Marx announced their next destination. As a group they walked through a roofed row of freestanding arches which led to the exercise area.

"Everyone’s home, this is so great!" The second princess of Nohr shouted as she practically skipped along the path. The blonde girl seemed just as energetic as she had been during the banquet last night. Hinoka wondered if she might’ve pestered Sakura until the quieter princess had agreed to what plans the Nohrian had dreamt up.

Abruptly Elise paused in her prancing and yawned, wide enough that tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. Marx chuckled which had the young princess huffing, "We stayed up really late last night! Later than you and Hinoka I bet."

No one disagreed with the claim— mostly because everyone older than Princess Elise didn’t want to break the sudden awkward silence by saying anything too close to the truth. Although Hinoka couldn’t help but glance at her husband as he walked beside her, likely slowing his steps or shortening his stride so as not to force her to keep the faster pace of his height. Marx’s neck was covered by another white cravat, fresh for the day, and the cloth completely hid any evidence Hinoka had left of their wedding night. If the Nohrian prince felt lingering tiredness from the events of yesterday, he gave no physical indications. During the entirety of the tour he’d been nothing but proper with his back always so straight, no matter where they were, or what they did. Not that she expected him to slump, but now she had the suspicion that he’d hide weakness rather than admit to it.

"Father had Orochi bring out my koto for me to play," Sakura graciously struck up safe conversation.

"The song was so pretty! I had Elfie get my violin so I could show off what a Nohrian stringed instrument solo sounds like.” Elise spun around and walked backwards while she said, “We've agreed to practice together while your family's here, big sis Hinoka."

The Hoshidonese princess made sure to meet her eye as she responded, “I’m glad you both have so much in common, Princess Elise.”

“Oh, no need for the title. We’re sisters now!”

Nohr’s second princess was childishly blunt, but Hinoka found herself smiling because of it. “Very well, Elise.” She certainly liked it better than the kowtowing and empty flattery some of the nobility in Hoshido had attempted.

A giggle from Sakura had her glancing— the fact that she hadn’t gotten to talk to her yesterday at all had Hinoka feeling guilty. When Elise faced forward once more, Hinoka leaned close to her sister and whispered, "I'm sorry if I worried you, Sakura."

"It's alright.” Sakura whispered back, “Ryouma told Father and I what happened once the celebration in the great hall had ended."

Hinoka nodded, stood straight, and felt both relieved and embarrassed at the same time. Having so abruptly left the great hall— who would've thought eating dishes with a little milk could cause such a spectacle?

“Princess Sakura,” Marx spoke evenly. “May I ask how your journey in Nohr has been thus far?”

“O-oh, um…” Her little sister ducked her head at the sudden attention, and likely the fact that the Nohrian prince had an intimidating stature and countenance. Yet she soon raised her head and replied, “I-It’s all been very different, t-though not in a bad way! In an e-exciting way, really. Your family’s hospitality has b-been most gracious, Prince Marx.”

“And we’ll be doing tons of fun stuff this week, I can’t wait!” Elise cheered.

Sakura lifted her hands together over her heart, a habit she’d fallen into when gathering her courage. She smiled and said, “This trip is the farthest I’ve been out of Hoshido! I-I’ll have a lot to write Izana about once we stay in one place for long enough.”

Since she’d been old enough to hold a brush and learned how to write, Sakura had been exchanging letters with her betrothed in Izumo. Her younger self had initially disliked the arrangement, on principle, but especially when she'd discovered it would’ve been her if the alliance with Nohr hadn’t been negotiated. Although now Hinoka was glad her little sister had gotten to know her intended and that they’d become friends even with their wedding date still several years away. It was frightening for your future to belong with some stranger in a strange land… better that shy, gentle-hearted Sakura join with a friend in a nation not too far from home.

The press of the golden ring against Hinoka’s finger suddenly felt heavy; she briefly clenched her left hand to try and chase the feeling away. Seeking to distract herself, the Hoshidonese princess glanced to her husband’s left hand. She’d seen him put on his own ring this morning, but the material of the gloves he now wore were not tight enough to tell. And those hands... She admitted in the privacy of her own thoughts that she found them interesting, with their scars and calluses— hands with a history. They were large compared to the size of her own, just as his skin was pale against hers. It was as Sakura had said, exciting differences.

“Oh hey, look who it is!” Elise shouted.

Hinoka looked to the end of the arcade and spied two familiar figures standing there speaking to one another.

“Camillaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-” The second Nohrian princess ran and the first princess of Nohr turned to meet the blonde girl with open arms. Camilla kept balance as she stooped, despite her rounded belly. Ryouma watched the dramatic embrace with a wry expression, though from the way he crossed his arms Hinoka could tell he wouldn’t simply leave off whatever conversation had been interrupted. However, her older brother did look in the direction from which Elise had run and when he saw them Ryouma uncrossed his arms to give a wave of acknowledgement.

Once they’d closed the distance her husband greeted, “Prince Ryouma.”

“Prince Marx,” her brother greeted in return. “It seems your sister intends to steal my wife away.”

“Elise has never been good at curbing her impulses.”

“I heard that!”

Both princes fought smiles at Elise’s indignant protest. Yet Ryouma soon turned his head and greeted, “Sakura, Hinoka.” His face was entirely serious as he looked Hinoka in the eye and said, “Good to see that you weren’t left worse for wear from last night.”

She scowled at his wording, it was teasing either way and she wanted to punch him— ladylike behavior be damned. Instead Hinoka tossed her head as she said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Aside from how I had to leave the banquet, there was nothing wrong with last night. In fact, I’ve quite enjoyed the time spent with my husband.” She’d looked her brother in the eye when she’d spoken, so his imagination wouldn’t take a glance away as ammunition that something was secretly wrong. While Hinoka was scared about many things of Nohr and having to stay rather than return home, so far her husband hadn’t given her any reasons to worry about him.

Ryouma held the eye contact for a moment longer, then glanced to Marx and gave him a hard once over. The Nohrian prince didn’t flinch under the scrutiny. Instead he seemed to wait until the inspection was over before saying, “Princess Hinoka’s well-being is one of my top priorities. I assure you that this concern will not change no matter the span of time, Prince Ryouma.”

His words had her heart feeling overfull again, Hinoka undoubtedly sent the Nohrian prince a look. Though he wouldn’t have seen it with the way Marx and Ryouma had initiated some sort of visual standoff— no doubt the loser would look away first.

“Now, now, so much tension.” Camilla said as the sisterly embrace ended and she stood to her considerable height. “Though my elder brother has the face of a lion, he is quite the lamb to those close to his heart.”

“Camilla.” Marx practically sighed, his tone long-suffering.

Yet the hard edge of suspicion dropped from Ryouma’s gaze. “Very well.” He deliberately closed his eyes then opened them and calmly said, “It’s difficult to give up the role of protector, but it is no longer my place. My lord father has already given Hinoka over to you and your family, please take good care of her.”

Marx blinked, possibly in surprise, but soon recovered. “You have my word,” he said then held out and open hand. Ryouma had gone on enough journeys with Sumeragi to know what the gesture meant, and clasped the Nohrian prince’s hand with his own. They shook, then let go and let their arms fall to their sides.

“Well, now that that’s solved perhaps you can help us with my little dilemma, dear brother.” Camilla gracefully brushed a thick lock of curly hair behind her shoulder. "Mother and Queen Ektrina have invited Belka and I out for a flight. It's been so long since I took Marzia over Vindam, the very idea is nostalgic. But I don't want to leave Ryouma on his lonesome, as Leo's disappeared somewhere and our fathers' are holed up in a private meeting with the heads of the high houses. Is there something you all could do together?"

“Um…” Sakura shrunk a little as all eyes turned to her, but her words were clear. “What about sparring? Y-you’re both warriors, so…”

Elise nodded enthusiastically, long twin tails bouncing. “Yeah, you both use swords so it should be a fair fight!”

The first-born princes looked at each other, seeming to size the other up once more. At the moment they were both in formal attire rather than anything appropriate for battle, but Hinoka knew that Ryouma traveled with his armor and that Marx’s was undoubtedly somewhere nearby. “I admit to having heard many things about Nohr’s holy blade, and would welcome personally seeing it in action.” Ryouma gestured in invitation. “I can have my own kingdom’s holy sword brought so that you can see.”

Hinoka didn’t miss how Marx’s eyes darted to Camilla then to her. She nodded at him and hoped he’d understand that she didn’t mind that their tour took a detour. He seemed to as Marx faced her brother fully and said, “That sounds agreeable. Though I have some requests…” The terms of the duel were agreed upon as single-combat: alone, on foot, and without use of missile weapons or ranged attacks, using body armor and the swords only. They both agreed that this duel was to be a friendly one.

Camilla softly clapped her hands together as the discussion devolved into technical prattle. “Thank you for the wonderful idea, Sakura!” Her little sister blushed at the public praise. “Now I really must be going.”

“You don’t want to stay and watch the bout, Camilla?” Hinoka spoke without thought, then cursed her runaway tongue. She knew her sister-in-law had insisted on riding regardless of her delicate condition.

"Unlike my husband, I've no fascination with swords. So you all enjoy yourselves and I'll do the same." Camilla pressed a hand to Ryouma’s shoulder then left with a wave, off to join her retainer and the king’s spouses waiting for her at the mews.

After she left, so did the princes— heading back to Krackenstein Castle in order to retrieve their retainers and the necessary equipment. Elise had volunteered to guide Hinoka and Sakura the rest of the way so they could wait and rest a while.

“Yay, it’s been soooooo long since Marx had someone new to fight with.” The blonde girl nearly buzzed with energy at the prospect, “This’ll be fun!”

“Oh but… Won’t it be dangerous?” Sakura was already fretting over possible outcomes. “Should I go and get my festal?”

“Don’t worry, Joker will come back with Marx and he’ll have a staff with him.” Elise sounded completely confident in the butler’s healing abilities, but Hinoka had to admit he’d done a fine job with her. The Nohrian princess continued to chatter as they walked and then after they’d arrived, Hinoka was glad that Sakura seemed to be happy occupying most of the energetic girl’s attention.

The training grounds of Krackenstein Castle weren't under the open sky, but instead located inside a series of buildings that consisted of a singular open room with large windows and floors covered with sawdust edged by mats that looked only slightly softer than the stone of the walls. It was illuminated not with braziers or torches, but many ornate lanterns which glowed with a bright orange light. Along the walls were step-like benches, where Hinoka and the younger princesses settled in. It seemed that word had spread concerning the upcoming spar, as people steadily trickled in and filled the seats— some of them richly dressed, but others looked like a servant that’d just snuck out of the workroom.

The heirs to the thrones returned to the grounds resplendent in full fighting regalia, Ryouma in his red and white armor, Marx a Nohrian suit of black and purple— both sets trimmed with gold. Her husband was flanked by Joker and Cyrus, while behind her brother trailed both of his retainers, Saizou and Kagerou, both in plain sight rather than moving while hidden, which was the polite thing to do while staying in a foreign castle. The retainers’ heads turned and looked over the gathered audience as they stood on the sidelines, but the princes seemingly ignored the gathered mass as they walked to the edges of the practice floor.

Both men settled into stances for battle and sized each other up, the Nohrian prince drew the long blade and tossed aside the scabbard. From her spot on the sidelines, Hinoka peered curiously over at the holy sword of Nohr, Seigfried— it had a very wide, flat blade which combined with the length of the pommel, handle, and hilt was nearly as long as its wielder was tall! Like her older brother, Marx was a man of considerable height. The massive size and shape of the holy weapon looked so strange compared to the elegant curve of katanas. Yet the Nohrian sword had an elegance— with its blackened and gilded patterns of color, raised star shapes along the handle, and how the blade seemed to glow with an inner light.

Her attention switched as Ryouma sank towards the ground, drew and readied his sword in one graceful motion, then sprang at Nohr's prince whirlwind quick with the Raijintou. Marx took a single step back and brought up his blade to parry at the last moment, the sheer length of it making up for the time. The Raijintou clanged off Siegfried, the shriek of metal-on-metal almost echoed against the walls. Her brother struck again, forced Marx farther back. Nohr's prince allowed himself be forced, slid on one foot before he gathered himself and surged at Ryouma. His blade began to cleave down, each swing of his sword heavy and unrelenting as an avalanche. The sudden flurry of blows forced her brother to the defensive and then dodging— she'd seen how Ryouma grimaced when he'd blocked the first few in full.

Marx swung not just to slice, but also seemed perfectly content to bash with forceful hits, as if he held a blunted rather than edged weapon. It was so different from the quick-flowing manner of Hoshidonese swordmasters she'd grown up with. As this wasn't a duel to the death, neither of the princes tried to cleave armor asunder nor aimed their blades in thrusts at the gaps and joints in armor— they didn't want to maim the other over a fun diversion.

The longer the duel went on the wilder Ryouma moved, but he didn't lose any precision and control in the increasingly wide strikes. While Marx seemed to act in bursts, defensively conservative at one moment and then charging at the next, unpredictable to her eyes. The lightning crackling down the Raijintou's holy blade jumped and sparked every time it met the dark metal of Siegfried, while Nohr's holy weapon pulsed with shadowy energy at the violent contact. Abruptly the two of them broke apart, both princes backed up and appeared to be catching their breath. Ryouma began to circle, step by careful step. Marx turned in place, his dark eyes tracked her brother's movements and he made sure to never expose his back to him. There was a tightness around Ryouma's mouth that Hinoka had seen with her father, when Sumeragi had been confronted with a conflict he wasn't sure that he could win.

Ryouma's upper lip curled back from his teeth then he lunged, Marx swung with a snarl on his face and met the motion with a two-handed parry, the weight of his entire body thrown into the counterstrike. Ryouma was hurled back, slid on both feet with one hand against the ground to balance himself. When the motion stopped her brother charged again, then the Nohrian prince's fighting style changed drastically. One of his gauntleted hands griped around the blade itself and he began to bash, deflect, bind, and trap— wielding the long sword akin to a pole-axe or short spear. But Ryouma regularly trained with wielders of such weaponry and adjusted his tactics accordingly.

Their holy swords resounded, blades singing against each other. Marx warded off one of Ryouma's more flourishing attacks, parried and countered, but her brother was ready for him. He was able to get inside Marx's guard and preformed a close-in slice, the Nohrian straight blade proved too long to effectively block, and yet...

The princes' fight halted. The edge of the Raijintou was tucked against Marx's neck in a threat to take his head, while Seigfried's pommel rested beneath Ryouma's jaw with the promise of a crushed windpipe. It had ended in a draw— both men heaved out breaths like bellows and they gingerly lowered their weapons then drew away.

"It seems we're evenly matched." Marx looked at Hoshido's high prince with the respect one warrior gave to an equal in skill.

Ryouma's mouth kicked up in a smirk, as he tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Good to know my sister's husband can hold his own."

Hinoka released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. Princess Elise sprang from the bench to her feet with a cheer and the majority of the audience joined her— applauding, whistling, and shouting praise. The audience had grown from the point when the duel had begun, there was such a crush of people that their cheers quickly became a rancorous din. Hinoka took both Elise’s and Sakura’s hands in her own then walked all of them to the clearer center. Her brother’s retainers understood her aim and placed themselves behind them, so that none of the other audience could casually follow.

Ryouma and Marx were talking as they approached, her older brother currently had his hands on the Nohrian holy weapon and was examining the large sword. But Marx saw their approach and turned to face them. There was something different about her husband in full armor, he looked… completely at ease. There was no stiffness in the way he held himself, only the confidence that came with being secure in one’s own abilities. Hinoka felt similarly when she wore her uniform as a tenma warrior. The only portion of the Nohrian prince not covered in armor was his head, which still bore the black metal of his circlet. A few stray curls were plastered against his temple from where sweat had beaded during the duel. She was seized with the sudden urge to brush them back behind his ear.

Before Hinoka could act, Elise tugged out her hand and rushed to her brother— throwing her arms around him in spite of the armor. “You’re so strong!” The blonde girl yelled over the noise of the crowd and then squealed as the Nohrian prince picked her up by the waist and lifted her over his head like she weighed nothing.

While Hinoka stared in surprise, Sakura gently slipped from her grip and went over to stand by their brother. “You fought honorably,” her little sister’s voice was even quieter with the cheering audience behind them. But Ryouma clearly heard as he lowered Siegfried and smiled at her. Hinoka looked away from her brother and sister to let them have a measure of privacy.

Marx had set Elise back onto her feet, and the Nohrian princess seemed to be going into detail about how he would’ve won had he been riding on his horse. Rather than looking harried or bored, he listened attentively with his expression serious— though she was beginning to suspect that was his resting face. But as the Hoshidonese princess approached, she noticed something on what was visible of his neck.

"You're bleeding!" Hinoka reached up to where the long cut trickled blood down his pale skin into the white material of the cravat.

Marx actually drew back when her fingertips brushed him, but seemed to catch himself and stepped back within her reach. The motion though made her reconsider, after all in Nohr a bare neck was taboo— were things like touching that area in public similarly forbidden? Had she come close to shaming her husband?

Marx hadn’t said anything but he was watching her hand rather than looking at her face. Hinoka lowered her arm and asked, “Does it hurt?”

The Nohrian prince shook his head. “I hadn’t even noticed.” His dark eyes met hers and the tone of his voice was sardonic. “Hoshido’s holy sword must keep a wickedly sharp edge.”

But before they could say anything else, a voice she was becoming familiar with interrupted.

“I brought help!” Elise huffed as she ran, nearly dragging Joker behind her— something the man didn’t appear to appreciate. Hinoka hadn’t even caught when the Nohrian princess had dashed off to collect the silver-haired servant. The blonde girl came to a stop and then imperiously ordered, “Marx needs healing.”

At her words Joker’s disgruntled expression melted to one of concern, he immediately straightened and peered at his master. “My prince? Are you-”

“I’m fine, Joker.” Marx cut in, his tone certain. “It’s a cut, but I doubt a very serious one.” He glanced at Hinoka and then his sister. “Though to be sure, you can bring a staff and check when we go to the bathhouse before the dinner tonight.”

“Oh the baths!” Elise suddenly caught Hinoka’s hands, “Please say you’ll bathe with me, big sis Hinoka! Pretty please?”

The Hoshidonese princess was surprised by being asked that out in the open, but it seemed there was no shame for Norhians in spending time together in the bath. So she nodded in agreement. The blonde girl grinned and swung their arms, yet she abruptly let go when she said she’d go ask Sakura.

Hinoka sighed; the second princess of Nohr would undoubtedly remain quite a handful. She watched as Elise bowled herself between Ryouma and her sister with only the barest of bows to the Hoshidonese prince. Then from under lowered lashes, she couldn’t help but glance back at her husband. He spoke to Joker in low tones, inaudible with the noisy crowd within the building— the splash of red so prominent against the white fabric and his pale skin.

The rumors circling in Hoshido's court about Nohrian royalty being devils with ice-water flowing through their veins couldn't be more wrong. Her husband bled red as any mortal man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in game canon apparently you cannot see the sun in Nohr, like anywhere. I'm not sure how that's supposed to work with a feasible climate where crops are kept, so this verse is instead going with the theory it's usually overcast/stormy and a sunny day is very rare.
> 
> I've based the size of Seigfried off of [the intro video](http://damoselcastel.tumblr.com/post/128189052628/marxs-sword-seigfried-is-almost-as-tall-as-he-is).
> 
> Thanks to [Isangma](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Isangma) for BETAing this chapter!


	5. Swords, Thorns, And Injury - part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some possibly triggering content is in this chapter. If that concerns you, please read this [page](https://damoselceles.dreamwidth.org/4446.html) where the warning is detailed. Know that the trigger listing also acts as mild spoilers for this chapter.
> 
> Originally posted 10/29/2015, revised 5/9/2016.

Their second day as husband and wife was largely spent unboxing wedding gifts in the privacy of Marx's rooms. They'd been given all manner of presents, and she found most of them to be frivolous things that she couldn't picture either of them needing or using in their daily lives. The Nohrian guests had sent all manner of hats to her husband, but he confided he rarely wore such things as they tended to cover his circlet. They’d sent her numerous fashion accessories which Hinoka had spied upon the Nohrian noblewomen at the wedding, but personally thought them to be gaudy baubles. Marx had laughed at her reaction to one box full of lace and ribbons meant to be worn as bedclothes, something called ‘lingerie’— but Hinoka had gotten her turn when it turned out the gift contained not only items for her, but some articles for him as well, just as skanty. Clothing, jewelry, sometimes bits or armor or small daggers that were more decorative than practical. All were set to the side to be stored somewhere out of the way.

There were a few useful gifts: purses full of coin, informational books, deeds to parcels of land and ownership over heads of chattel— though the latter Marx had needed to bring out a map in order to show her the locations in question. Hinoka tried to make note of who gifted on the practical side, as she’d undoubtedly meet them in court in the future. Once everything had been unboxed, then Marx set them both to the task of signing uniform letters called ‘thank you cards’ which would be sent to the guest’s homes. It was well into the evening before they had finished, and they ended up taking a light supper in his rooms and enjoyed a quiet evening of reading the scrolls of illustrated poetry her father had gifted them.

The third day they had both spent the majority of both day and night within the grand hall, being formally introduced to the court at large, as most had gathered in the city in order to attend the wedding. There were somehow even more faces than had been present during the ceremony. When they got a private moment to themselves, having greeted enough nobility that Hinoka’s head had spun with all the names and titles— Marx had admitted that some parties had just arrived as their marriage date had originally been this day but had to be moved up. It’d looked like he wanted to tell her more, but then King Garon’s adviser had found their hiding place and dragged them back out into the center of attention. Hinoka found she did not like Baron Iago.

The fourth day her husband, brother, Nohr's second prince, and their fathers had left the castle before dawn to go on a hunt with a handful of high-ranking nobles. There was apparently a sort of wetland where game animals and waterfowl could be found, not too far from the capital city. The outing gave Hinoka a change to simply spend quality time with her sister and sisters-in-law, which she was grateful for. It was spent in the solar of princess Elise’s rooms, though the amount of stuffed toys and porcelain dolls made it look more like a nursery. They spent the time doing embroidery work, as Camilla had taken to teaching Sakura and herself sewing, and just talking to one another about subjects of their choice. Before sunset the men returned from the hunt with game that would be prepared and served for dinner. They’d all had sodden clothing spattered with mud, and when Hinoka asked Ryouma how the hunt had gone he simply replied that he would never understand Nohrians’ love for equines. Admittedly the way he and her husband reeked of swamp water and wet horse, she had a guess to what might’ve formed such an opinion.

It was now the fifth and final day the royal family of Hoshido was to stay in Krackenstein Castle, tomorrow they would start the return journey to Hoshido without Hinoka. Marx, Camilla, and Ryouma had all been called to attend a last meeting with heads of Nohr’s high houses until past noon when a performance was scheduled. Joker informed her that she was free to spend the morning as she pleased, and Hinoka knew just the destination she wanted to give the time to.

There were actual gardens in Krackenstein Castle. A large one at the center of the castle that its residents referred to as ‘the green court’. Already Hinoka longed for the lushness of home, but she found even this garden alien. The courtyard had two sections: and outer and an inner. The inner was located at the center of both the castle and the green court; it was partitioned from the outer by a tall, circular stone wall covered with leafy vines which had a single gate in it, of solid wood, which was typically locked. Guards were stationed every ten paces or so along the wall, so it must’ve enclosed something of significance.

The green court’s outer section was much more of what the Hoshidonese princess would consider open grounds, and could be accessed from multiple doors throughout the castle. Neatly laid paths of paving stones ran between utilitarian planting beds for medicinal herbs and food plants, unimpressive in their unadorned rectangular plots. There were also sorts of small mazes made from arranged knee high plants— hyssop, thyme, chamomile, lavender, and small shrubs —where one could walk the path and it was impossible to become lost. The walkways were lined with stone benches, where one might sit and take in the view. Throughout the paths were many statues set atop thick columns in the form of horses, wyverns, heraldic beasts, and people; likely figures from Nohrian history that Hinoka didn't know.

The single thing of interest in the outer section of the green court was a large building made of glass. As she approached, she found that it was fogged so she couldn’t see in from the outside. Curiosity go the better of her so Hinoka opened a door and slipped inside, finding it markedly hotter within the space which housed numerous beds of blooming bushes. With the door shut behind her a sweet, floral scent nearly overwhelmed her sense of smell. It undoubtedly came from the countless flowers. As Hinoka stepped further inside, the spicy-sweet smell strengthened but she was better able to observe the plants. There were bushes of all colors— pure white, rich red, warm yellow, bright pink, pale purples, and some had colors which mixed upon the petals itself. The blossoms ranged a delicate five petals to fuller multi-layered blooms which grew upon green stalks, and when she brushed her fingers across one of the strange, strongly-scented flowers then down its stem and she encountered their sharp thorns.

Hinoka hissed through her teeth and snatched her hand back, then held it up to inspect her cut forefinger which soon beaded blood.

"Careful, those roses are bloodthirsty."

The voice caused her to spin around, and realize that she wasn’t alone inside the glass building. She saw him over the flowers: a tall, dark-skinned man with pale hair and an eye patch. His single blue eye was fixed on her and an almost mocking smiled curled his lips. He didn’t stand staring for long though, and soon enough emerged from behind the row of flowering bushes— curiously in the crook of one arm he held a wicker basket full of cut blooms. He didn’t wear the finery of nobility, armor of a guard, or the uniform of a servant. In fact he dressed more like a commoner and wore a cape, yet this man’s neck was bared, scandalous by Nohrian standards. Despite the voice of the long gone etiquette tutor warning her that this be must an ill-bred ruffian, Hinoka stood her ground as he approached.

She asked, “These are all roses?”

His smile grew more crooked as he answered, “You are standing in the rosarium.”

The Hoshidonese princess glanced at the flowers again and supposed they must be Nohrian breeds, as only a handful of them resembled roses in the gardens at Shirazaki.

Suddenly a different man’s voice cut through the hot, humid air. “Zero! Where’d you wander off too?” It sounded like he was a ways off, though Hinoka couldn’t see anyone else at a glance.

When Hinoka looked back to the stranger, she found him still watching her with a smile. The dark-skinned man abruptly bowed, managing not to tip so far as to spill the flowers. "Princess," the way he spoke made syllables drip like sun-warmed honey and nearly had her put distance between them.

Without further ado he righted himself, backed away, and began to walk to some destination within the glass rosarium. It wasn’t that Hinoka was insulted, so much as terribly curious, even as she started following the man without attempting any sort of stealth he didn’t stop or turn to look but kept on. Soon enough he’d led them to an entirely different section, where the roses looked even more foreign.

By these new flowers stood the second prince of Nohr. There was a flash of surprise as on his face as he spied her, but it was momentary and quickly replaced by a neutral expression. “Princess Hinoka, welcome to Anya I’s rosarium,” he greeted her evenly.

In one of his hands a laid a number of clipped flowers on long stems, his other hand held a heavy set of shears. Once the dark-skinned man had gone to his side, Leo laid the bundle he held into the offered wicker basket. That done the Nohrian prince turned to face her fully, his now free hand gesturing to the taller man. “This is my retainer, Zero.”

Although his smile was gone, the shallow dip of Zero’s head was decidedly teasing. Leo noticed too and continued, “He’s a bit unorthodox, on my behalf please excuse his eccentricities.”

“Of course, Prince Leo.” Hinoka knew well about unorthodox retainers, and was sure that Leo had his reasons for keeping a scandalous man in his employ. She could’ve sworn the prince’s eyes looked relieved— but only for a moment, then that confidence he’d displayed before the first dance was back.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you in the rosarium, Princess Hinoka?” Leo asked. She watched as the Nohrian prince trimmed the leaves off a red flower before he cut its thorny stem right off the bush. It was deposited with the rest of the bundle in the basket Zero dutifully held.

“Exploring.” Hinoka took a measured breath, the roses in this section seemed to have a stronger scent somehow. “Prince Marx was needed elsewhere this morning, but informed me that we’d be attending an event in the green court after midday. As I’ve only glanced over these gardens I decided to use the time to get a better look.”

Leo hummed thoughtfully. “That will be the performance by the songstress. I’m gathering these roses for that actually. It’s tradition for the audience to throw flowers onto the stage when the performance is finished. Since the king paid specially to have an Amusian come to perform at the castle, I thought it appropriate to throw roses for Nohr.”

Marx's younger brother continued down the line of bushes snipping flowers as he went. Both she and Zero followed him, Hinoka pointedly ignoring how the dark-skinned man kept his eye on her rather than watching his lord. Since the second prince seemed to be in an answering mood, she asked, “Are these all Nohrian roses ?”

“Not all of them, actually. Though the oldest specimens in this rose garden were planted by the First Queen of Nohr herself, it’s been expanded and altered throughout the generations.” Leo actually stopped clipping and looked her in the eye. "Queen Ikona sent some potted tea roses to Krackenstein Castle when the alliance between Hoshido and Nohr was formally announced."

Hinoka hadn’t heard of that before, her mother possibly being the first to defy tradition of banned exportation to the west. Then again, it would’ve happen while the Hoshidonese princess still hated the arrangement and was busy commiserating with Ryouma, who’d nearly rebelled over having to wed the enemy. And then… after her mother died such things as sending roses wouldn’t have been so important. Her heart ached a little at the thought that her mother’s flowers grew in this garden. "...my mother was generous in spirit."

"You're looking at the fruit of her generosity."

"What do you mean?"

Leo gestured to the bushes he was standing before. "These roses are hybrids, the result of Nohr's native roses and those from Hoshido cross-pollinating and reproducing. Previously Anya's rose collection would only bloom during the spring. But the tea roses and hybrids produce multiple blossoms throughout the year."

Hinoka examined these 'new' roses more closely, the amount of petals reminded her more of peonies than five-petaled tea roses. "Why do they look so different?"

"Happy accident.” Leo seemed pleased by her interest. “The gardeners simply gave the plants with bigger flowers preferential treatment and isolated them together in order to breed more. The rosarium holds over one thousand different cultivars and varieties, but these hybrids are currently the most sought after by the high houses. They’re popularly called ‘everblooming roses’."

With that Leo appeared satisfied with himself, and turned back to snipping off blooms to add to Zero’s nearly full basket.

Hinoka stood silently for a while, taking in the surreal fact that already something new had been created through the alliance between Hoshido and Nohr— new life, flowers that ever bloomed. But the thinking brought another question to her mind, with memories of Krackenstein Castle’s grey outer grounds still fresh in her memory. She took a few steps to catch up where Leo had moved and asked, “How’re all of these flowers thriving?”

“Oh,” the retainer spoke for the first time since they come to this section of the garden. “Don’t think we know how to plant seeds and apply tender care here in Nohr?” The way he said it seemed to imply an entirely different plowing.

Before Hinoka to could much more than inhale, Leo answered with a nonplussed voice. “I assume you’re wondering given Nohr’s general lack of sunlight and other poor conditions?” The Nohrian prince waited until she nodded then continued, “The castle gardeners draw water from the spring and bring it here.” His smile turned mirthful, “Water from the garden’s heart will keep just about anything alive.”

Now Hinoka was lost. “A spring? Do you mean inside the wall?”

“Oh you haven’t gone in there yet, have you?” The jesting expression disappeared when she nodded again. “Yes, the spring is located inside the walled garden. It must be guarded, it’s the entire reason why the First Queen founded Vindam in this location. You’ll understand when we gather there for the performance later today.”

Leo clipped one last flower and stretched out his arms after adding it to the bundle. "Well, that should be enough." The second prince turned to his retainer and set the shears into the basket. Zero nodded and reached out to grasp his new cuttings, his fingers brushed Leo's carefully as they did so. It was only a brief touch, but Hinoka noticed that there was a tenderness to the action and that the Nohrian prince did not try to brush the other man off— instead his dark eyes shared a look with the retainer's single blue one.

But the moment ended before the Hoshidonese princess could speculate further. Leo ordered his retainer, “Have these all dethroned then brought to the stage.”

"It shall be done. Time for some unlucky servants to have their fingers pricked." Zero sounded extremely pleased at the prospect, then turned and headed towards yet another section of the glass building. When he’d gone a distance the dark-skinned man brought his free hand to his mouth and whistled shrilly. Although it wasn't the exact same sound, Hinoka recognized the whistle— from after Marx had kissed her after their vows in the sanctuary. At the sound a man dressed in servant’s garb came scrambling from somewhere, and nodded as the retainer evidently talked to him while the walked off.

“Is something wrong?”

Prince Leo’s question had Hinoka snapping her head to face him, she found the Nohrian prince watching her curiously. Questions swam. What sort of man was his retainer, who spoke so suggestively and bared his neck? Was Prince Leo really any much older than her younger brother Takumi? There were rumors in Hoshido's court that in Nohr’s nobility weren’t constrained to be faithful to a single married partner and that Nohrians didn’t go to their spouse for sexual enjoyment or romantic attachment, but to courtesans or kept lovers— that they these affairs were not limited by gender or age. Could Zero be...?

Instead Hinoka asked, “Was Zero at the wedding?”

“Of course, just like your own retainers attended. Although they’ve all been given separate tasks for this week so that you could spend quality time with your family and husband.” Leo’s eyes looked over her again, as if he was checking something. Yet if it was a doubt he dismissed it, and gave a short bow. “I’m afraid I can’t stay and give a further tour of the gardens. I must make my own preparations for the performance.”

Not wanting to run her mouth while the questions buzzed about her head like angry bees, Hinoka nodded. Prince Leo bid that she enjoy the green court then walked away. It took the Hoshidonese princess a good while, but she managed to find Ikona’s tea roses before she exited the rosarium.

The morning had quickly been whiled away exploring the green court. Around midday Hinkoa had returned to Marx’s rooms and Mozume had brought a meal of shredded beef stewed with vegetables and the sort of Nohrian bread she favored. Hinoka found a preference for the filling taste of the dark brown breads to the fluffy white, and had asked Joker to have the kitchens send mostly "black bread", as Nohrians called it, with her meals. Once that was eaten then her handmaid helped the Hoshidonese princess dress for the event. Now that she was married never again would Hinoka don a furisode with trailing sleeves. But she couldn't bring herself to wear a dour kurotomesode, instead Mozume helped her into a red tsukesage with a pattern of white cranes and a blue obi. Although Hinoka preferred her riding boots it wasn’t suitable for kimono, geta seemed more appropriate for the castle's hard floors than zōri. Lastly came the styling and decoration of her hair.

There was an extensive collection of kanzashi in the palace at Shirazaki, mostly heirlooms of queens and princesses past but the ones she cared about where those the late queen had worn. Hinoka's one regret about cutting her hair short was that she couldn't wear the long pin, fluttering style kanzashi Ikona had favored. But Sakura could wear and enjoy them— and her little sister having a connection to the mother she barely remembered was more important than Hinoka's vanity. Instead she'd brought with her a small box full of small kushi combs which weren't too heavy for her short hair.

Because Mozume had never dealt with styling hair with kanzashi Orochi was summoned to the rooms. Being Orochi, she of course had to comment when the door was opened to her. “Look at all this! Nohrian luxury, eh?” She clicked her tongue as she looked about, undoubtedly finding the solar as crowded as Hinoka had. But her attention didn’t linger long as she spied the door to the private chamber propped open. “That’s your bedroom? It’s as dark as a cave! Looking in you couldn't even tell if someone in there was doing something naughty.”

Hinoka had remained sitting while allowing Orochi to indulge her curiosity. But Mozume who’d stood beside her wasn’t to inclined to wait and called to the purple-haired woman, “Lady Orochi, we need ta let the princess go on ‘er way!”

“Yes, yes.” Finally, her father’s retainer moved herself to stand behind Hinoka. "Okay, Mozume. This is royal hair, so it'll never be tame."

"Orochi!" Hinoka had to protest.

"It's true! Blame your father.” Only Orochi, a woman who had tended to both the Takumi and Sakura when they were little and was practically family could get away with saying such flippant things about Sumeragi. However, the retainer had not lost her place in the instruction and she continued, “Now for putting kanzashi in the princess's hair, first pick a side and braid it like this." Hinoka felt the tugging as Orochi tightly braided the strands near her left ear. "Take the kushi and carefully place it at the top." The purple-haired woman picked up a lacquered wood comb with silk suisen blossoms and Hinoka held herself still as the wooden teeth slid against her scalp. "Then just tease the what’s left a little!" She felt as Orochi's fingers carded through the rest of her hair and fluffed the strands. This 'teasing' always drove her a bit crazy but the Hoshidonese princess had to admit that she could never pull off a sleek style.

After that Hinoka was ready and when Mozume affirmed that she understood what Orochi had just demonstrated, the Hoshidonese princess shuffled them all out of Marx’s rooms— before her father’s retainer might be tempted to snoop. The three women then parted ways.

Hinoka made her way through Krackenstein Castle’s winding halls to the green court, on her own like the morning. Yet as she approached a corner in the outer corridor multiple voiced could be heard. It sounded like a groups of men and one woman.

"You're from Amusia? That makes you a muse, right?"

" _No._ And even if I was, I wouldn't give pigs like you the privilege of my company!"

"Oh, bet it's quite a pleasure, huh?"

As the men laughed Hinoka stepped around the corner and saw three men in Nohrian style armor gathered around a woman who had her back to a pillar yet was glaring at her harassers. At this point between the inner hall and outer courtyard there were apparently no castle guards stationed. Likely why this group had chosen to corner someone here.

The woman was around Hinoka’s height with her hair bobbed and she wore a much longer veil held in place by two circlets. The jewelry about her neck, upper arms, and wrists were thick bands with geometric designs. Most surprising was her clothing— the majority of it was of a sheer, billowy fabric while white cloth about her breasts and nethers gave her as much modesty as smallclothes might. It was not a casual or practical outfit and those men had said she was from Amusia, so she must be an entertainer of some sort.

While Hinoka was observing all this one of the men spoke again. “A girl from Muse must know about hospitality? We just want to show you some.” When he reached a hand towards the woman, she hastily slapped it away.

Hinoka had had enough. “She’s already told you no, or is your hearing that bad?”

All three men turned to look at her, expressions turning sour from the challenge. If they tried to rush her it’d be more difficult to fight them in a restrictive kimono, but she’d already slid her feet as far apart as her skirt would permit. If anything they’d underestimate her, and Hinoka could use that to win.

However, the man in the middle who’d spoken chose to attack in a different way. His face and gaze becoming salacious as he turned to face the Hoshiondese princess fully. “Well, well, who would’ve thought they’d be hiding a geisha in the castle?” The two other men who still flanked the Amusian woman snickered.

These louts likely had heard hearsay about how geisha entertained on both the stage and in the bedroom and that maiko's auctioned their virginity, then assumed all women from Hoshido were for sale. Never mind that in truth geisha were foremost artists dedicated to traditional study. Similarly, they must assume that muses worked only in pleasure palaces, rather than the fact that ‘muse’ was a title given to all manner of performers that lived and worked Amusia. These sorts of men were ignorant and didn't care to know the truth. Hinoka allowed her disgust to show on her face as the strangers leered at both her and the woman.

One of the men to the side goaded, “Considering how King Garon has the nation in bed with Hoshido, it’s not surprising he’d want to bend one over in person.”

Hinoka’s brows raised at how flagrantly disrespectful these Nohrians were speaking of their king— a ruler with a well-known streak of ruthlessness if any of Nohr’s recent history she’d been taught was accurate. And were these men truly not aware of who she was?

She voiced her disbelief, “You dare speak of your liege with such insolence?”

“We’re simply stating the new way of things.” The first man’s insulting smile grew downright ugly. “But if you’re here to serve Nohrians, it looks like you need to be shown your place, little geisha.”

Hinoka grit her teeth and clenched her hands into fists, settling her balance on the balls of her feet.

“Leave her alone!” The Amusian woman suddenly yelled. Her voice was loud enough to reverberate against the walls which caused he men to wince and cover their ears, then she pushed off the pillar. She dashed by the middle man’s turned back and skillfully evaded his hands when he tried to grab her. She came to a stop in front of Hinoka, facing the men with her arms stretched out. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves!”

However, rather than being moved by the woman’s actions, all the men’s stances relaxed and they looked amused. Before they could insinuate further, the Amusian woman spoke again— loudly.

“I am Lala the songstress, summoned to this castle at the request of King Garon himself!” She lowered her arms and simply stood defiant. “And whoever this woman is, she clearly has more class and honor than men like you deserve. Neither of us are here for you!”

Apparently the amusement had gone. The middle man’s expression once again turned sour and ugly. “And why should we believe you?”

“If any had a scrap of intelligence to share between the three of you, there would be plenty of reason to believe.”

It was a voice she hadn’t heard before, stern and gravelly. The three men were now gazing past them and when Hinoka looked over her shoulder she found yet another man in Nohrian armor standing a distance behind her. His angular face was lined with age, and the purple color of his swept-back hair looked almost faded. A prominent scar ran from his temple to his chin in a diagonal line across his face. There was a blue sash laid across the black metal armor plates over his chest… much like the sash her husband had worn with his armor on the day of the duel.

“S-Sir Gunther.” One of the men sputtered. She’d heard that name before…but from where? All three of them gave a bow, though some looked more begrudging than others.

The older Nohrian sounded far from impressed, “So, despite useless ears your eyes do work.” He then walked forward until he stood just to the right of Hinoka’s shoulder. “I confess to thinking you men must be halfwits. For even fools know that His Majesty does not tolerate inappropriate advances being made towards the castle staff, let alone infringing upon the demands of hospitality by insulting his guests.”

“We’re guests!” The middle man burst, his face contorted with anger. The other two men looked torn between than same emotion and fear.

“I can see by your crests that you all must hail from the eastern territories.” The knight pointed to a crest that Hinoka had missed because of the like colors. “This explains why you’re less joyous in the celebration of our kingdom’s alliance with Hoshido. No more front line for cowards such as yourselves to try and grab ill-placed glory.”

All three men made a sound of protest at being called craven, and their postures had grown aggressive. Yet Sir Gunther didn’t bat an eye. Instead he continuing with his matter-of-fact tone, “Rather brave of you all to make unwelcome overtures toward a woman known foremost for her dedication and service to her nation’s army.”

The older Nohrian’s dark eyes glanced pointedly to Hinoka, and she was caught surprised before realizing his aim. The Hoshidonese princess turned her gaze back to the three louts before them and gave her most challenging glare. “I’ve defeated rōnin twice your size and number. If you do not care for the wholeness of your limbs and haleness of your body, come at me.” It didn’t matter that she wasn’t in full armor and was without a naginata, Hinoka knew her determination alone would defeat such cowards.

Confusion and worry warred on the men’s faces, the two at the sides backed down— yet the one in the middle seemed to draw himself up, like an animal trying to make itself look bigger. “Why would a warrior be dressed up as you are?” He appeared so proud of himself. Undoubtedly believing he’d entrapped them with his flawless logic, rather than setting the net at his own feet with lack of foresight.

Sir Gunther answered with his straight-forward tone, “Because she is the crown prince’s wife.”

At this the man visibly balked, all three men quieted and quelled under the implications of the old knight’s words.

There was a gasp in front of her, and Hinoka found the Amusian woman staring, her blue eyes wide. “You… You’re the princess from Hoshido?” Her question was almost whispered.

Hinoka resisted the urge to chew on her own lip, wishing they could’ve had a better introduction, but nodded.

“O-oh!” Lala’s hands fluttered then covered her mouth, as if embarrassed by the outburst. She only barely heard the muffled, “Oh gods… I stepped in front of a princess.”

Before Hinoka could assure the songstress that it was fine, Gunther called out. “Your Highness.” He didn’t continue until she looked towards him, “Shall I drag these men off for punishment, or would you like them to first beg mercy on their knees?”

Although the older Nohrian did not seem belligerent, part of her wondered if this was some sort of test? She knew that this kingdom every citizen could demand a trial by by combat, it was a right applied to all social classes regardless that the judiciary system had an archives’ worth of laws. It seemed… strange that a knight could simply bypass both and drag the guilty off to punishment— whatever that might be. Although from the way that the three men were lowering themselves onto their knees, perhaps he could.

“Sir Gunther,” Hinoka chose her words carefully. “Do you have the authority to do this?”

“I am a witness to their insolence firsthand and am a retainer to the crown prince. With yourself and Mistress Lala, what other jury is needed?”

She didn’t like how he answered her question with a question, especially since she wasn’t entirely certain if he was giving a half-truth for convenience. So she instead played his game. “But you’re leaving the decision to me?”

Gunther tilted his head. “Naturally, my lady. You wield even more authority than I, and you are the wronged party. Right to first blood is yours, so please decide.”

Hinoka frowned at that last phrase. Although her disgust towards these men remained she wanted to knock some sense into them, prove her capability and honor— not kill them. Then she thought of a better solution.

“You’re mistaken, Sir Gunther.” His brow rose in question and she continued, “Though I was insulted it is Lala who was most wronged.”

The Amusian woman practically squeaked as they both turned to her. She stuttered out, “M-me?!”

“Yes.” Hinoka tried to smile reassuringly, even though she knew what she planned was underhanded. “I wish to leave you the decision of what will be done with these men, through my authority.”

The songstress was stunned to speechlessness. A dry chuckle came from the Nohrian knight, and for the first time he smiled. “How good of you to respect guests of the realm, my lady.” The smile remained as he turned to the Amusian woman. “What is your judgement, Mistress Lala?”

Lala was so flustered that she blushed. She wrung her hands for a few moments before her shoulders hunched and she looked the taller man in the eye. “Put them in the stocks! Or something like that, for the rest of the day. People like them aren’t worth having on our conscience and spilling blood doesn’t solve anything.” She closed her eyes and visibly shuddered.

Sir Gunther stared for a long moment then said, “A magnanimous decision. The sort not often delivered in this castle.” Then the knight turned to the Hoshidonese princess. “Shall I inform the guard so these men can be brought to the city square for their sentence?”

Hinoka nodded, “Through my authority it is to be as Lala said.”

Sir Gunther’s smile stretched larger, and suspiciously resembled the look of a teacher proud of their pupil. While Hinoka hadn’t memorized Nohr’s laws in detail, she knew that an insult to royalty was dealt with far differently compared to even a guest of royalty. If she’d delivered judgement for her own honor, those men likely would’ve lost a body part, if not their lives. But by giving the decision over to the guest from Muse, a lighter sentence was acceptable.

Beside them the songstress heaved a sigh. "With that sorted, let's go to the garden before someone accuses me of skipping out!" Lala said irritably and grabbed onto Sir Gunther's arm, clearly expecting an escort. The old knight took it in stride and crooked his elbow so that the shorter woman could walk beside him comfortably.

Though he glanced to Hinoka in deference, and she nodded— more than happy to be leaving this unfortunate bend in the corridor. But when he'd turned and they'd begun to head away, an unfamiliar voice called out behind them.

"Princess Hinoka, please wait! I beg an audience."

It was another Nohrian, one of noble birth if his luxurious clothing were anything to go by.

"Lord Boldt." And by the fact the old knight knew him by name.

"Sir Gunther." The nobleman smoothly dipped his head in acknowledgement. "I only have need for the princess's time, so please continue your escort of the songstress. My mother would lock me in a tower if I was the one who caused a delay in the performance."

Sir Gunther looked at him a moment, clearly contemplating, then his eyes looked to Hinoka. While the thought of being left alone with these unfriendly Nohrians made her tense with unease, she said, "I'll be fine, Sir Gunther."

With one last long glance at the group the old knight nodded and walked away, arm in arm with Lala. The Amusian songstress looked over her shoulder with concern clearly written on her face— but soon enough they'd turned a corner and gone out of sight.

After a fortifying breath, Hinoka faced the Nohrian lord. "What do you wish to speak of?"

"I'd heard there'd been an incident, here where I'd left my personal guard."

"So these are your men."

"I'm afraid so. Could you tell me what the problem was?"

"They were harassing Lala, implying that she must be soliciting since she's a woman from Muse." He appeared to be attentively listening, but still it galled Hinoka have to explain the humiliation. "Then they insinuated the same for me with hailing from Hoshido."

"My, my!" The nobleman gave a sheepish bleat of laughter as he said, "Please forgive these foolish men for being so besotted by a woman's beauty. They lost their heads and said things that they didn't mean! Though I assure you that I will punish them properly once we return to Glamis."

The Nohrian had not stated that his men calling them prostitutes were wrong in their assumption. From the nobleman's body language, it was clear that he did not regard this event as a matter of importance and the Hoshidonese princess doubted that his guard would get more than a slap on the wrist— if even that. She was being mocked, and most frustratingly Hinoka didn't know what this person's standing was in Nohr’s court and whether her new family would shun her for starting a fight within the first week of her arrival.

Her fists clenched in the sleeves of her kimono as the man simpered, “Won’t you overlook this little mistake, Lady Hinoka?”

“Hinoka is a princess of Hoshido and consort to the chosen heir to the crown of Nohr.” A commanding voice rang out, and footsteps echoed as the Nohrian prince emerged from around the corner with the young green-eyed knight behind him. “You will address her with the proper respect due.”

“Y-Your Highness!” The nobleman bowed and his guard who were already on their knees put their heads to the ground, but Prince Marx didn’t react— instead he loomed over them like a statue. While the three guards remained bent, the Nohrian nobleman eventually righted himself and glanced to the knight. He greeted with a smile, “Lord Hardt.”

Sir Cyrus did not smile back as he nodded in acknowledgement. “Lord Boldt.”

The Nohrian prince hadn't moved or turned his stare from the nobleman and his guard. The frown of his mouth tightened and his already furrowed brow became more pinched as Marx spoke, "Lord Boldt, you and these men are to leave Krackenstein Castle tonight before the first bell of the new day. If you are not gone by that time I will have the castle guard eject you all with whatever force is necessary."

There was a nervous tightness now around the nobleman's smile. Everything in the way he turned to face the prince was sickeningly deferential. "Surely, my liege, this was all a misunderstanding-"

"Argue the matter any further and I’ll have the entire Boldt retinue turned out this very moment. Anyone who disrespects my wife is not welcome here.” Marx ordered, “Leave now." The severity of his voice alarmed Hinoka, who had never heard him speak to another in anything but even tones.

It had the intended effect. The three guard peeled themselves off the floor and together with the nobleman swiftly scuttled down the corridor. Before they’d gone out of sight, Marx looked to his retainer and ordered, “Cyrus, follow them and ensure my orders are obeyed.”

“As you will, milord.” The young man followed the path taken by the departed with a brisk pace and one hand resting on the hilt of his sword at his hip.

Without another word Marx crooked his elbow, and Hinoka took it— not wanting to upset the Nohrian prince when anger flashed in his dark eyes like a storm. He did not rush off though, but walked at the same measured pace that they’d taken earlier in the week, one which she could easily keep up with no matter what attire she wore. They quickly left the corridor and worked their way along the paths of the green court towards the walls at its center.

Before they reached it, Hinoka gathered her resolve and asked, “Who was that man?”

“A child who fancies himself clever and is too blinded by his family’s blood feud to realize that stirring up trouble with Hoshido will garner him punishment rather than praise-” Marx abruptly cut off his speech and gave a sharp exhale, clearly reigning himself in. “After you showed mercy to his men, lordling Boldt was brazenly testing your limits.” Her husband’s expression was harsh with disapproval. “He was a fool for thinking he might manipulate you so easily, and twice one to dream that his future queen would forget such an insult.”

Hinoka hadn’t seen him so gripped by emotion in public before. Though the target of his anger was clear, she chose her words carefully, “…you’re not done with his punishment?”

That had him glancing at her, his brow raised skeptically. “Of course not, by disrespecting you he disrespected me. I simply didn’t want to have to tolerate the sight of him any longer.”

Hinoka’s eyes narrowed as she realized what he’d just said— he’d heard that nobleman insult her…possibly even more. She had to know. Keeping her tone even she asked, “So you overheard everything?”

Marx’s eyes darted away at that. But his gaze returned as he admitted, “Just about, yes.”

“Wait, you eavesdropped but didn’t step in to help Lala!?” Her grip on his arm tightened until she spied his flinch.

She let up when he spoke, “Gunther, Cyrus, and I were approaching that corridor around the same time you came upon the scene and acted. I’ll admit I wanted to observe how you would handle the situation, so told my retainers to wait. Otherwise Cyrus would’ve rushed in gallantly to defend you both.” The anger had gone from his face, and been replaced with a cautious neutrality as he watched her for a reaction, “I’m fully confident that you can handle yourself.”

Hinoka held her glare onto him for a moment longer, but finally huffed out a hard breath and looked ahead. “I’m not sure if I should be mad at you or not,” she muttered.

“…I wouldn’t hold such anger against you.” His words were so frank, she might’ve accused him of being resigned if he hadn’t continued, “I would like it if we could spar. Not today, but sometime.”

“Really?” Marx quirked a brow at the disbelief in her voice, but the only one man in Hosihdo had been willing to regularly spar against the first princess— and it was largely because he’d been assigned as her partner within the tenma warriors. If her husband would willingly take up that role… Hinoka would forgive him many things. She tried her best to keep any excitement out of her voice, “Very well. I’d like that too.”

When the guard at the door saw their approach, he quickly unlocked the singular entrance and held open the heavy wood for them to pass inside the walled garden.

Although the quality of light and temperature did not change, Hinoka drew in a deep breath as she felt a pulse of energy pass through her very veins. It was indeed a garden, full of flower beds and shady trees with a seamless lawn of manicured green grass. Unlike the rest of the green court there were no paved paths, as some sort of plant grew every bit of ground just as clinging vines had overgrown the stone walls. The only other stone structure lay at its heart. It was a springhead about which had been constructed into a fountain made from polished black stone which twinkled with flecks of quartz, while artificial streams diverted the water to basins located on the edge of the stone walls. Even from a distance Hinoka could feel it— a Dragon's Vein within the spring. Its divine energy must have infused with the water, as the lushness of the surrounding plants were unparalleled in what she'd seen throughout Nohr.

Most of the garden plants had shoots, buds, and the light green of new growth as it was still early into spring. Some though were already leafy and flowering, including a number of trees had delicate white flowers covering their otherwise bare branches— they reminded Hinoka of the cherry blossoms of home. The garden smelled of those sweet flowers, of fresh water, and of recently turned earth. Then Hinoka heard it, the sound of birdsong. Though her eyes only caught glimpses of flapping wings, she realized that this was the first place in Vandam where she'd spied songbirds rather than the dull-colored songless birds that inhabited the rest of the city.

Despite the stressful event she had just emerged from, the Hoshidonese princess felt herself relax in this garden which reminded her of home. Marx led them towards a grouping of chairs that had been set out upon the grassy lawn, heading right for the front rows. Though her husband’s step slowed as his attention was focused on some sight. She followed his eyes and found one of the chairs already occupied by the Queen of Nohr.

This was the woman that rumors at Hishodo’s court said had her children ripped from her womb with a knife rather than giving birth to them. Hinoka had always thought such talk was ridiculous and uncharitable, but sitting so close she understood how some would be intimated. The Queen of Nohr, with her crown of blackened metal, had an imposing figure: broad shoulders matched by trim hips and an impressiveness of height that, before traveling to Nohr, Hinoka would’ve associated with aloof warriors from the Wind Clan. Ektrina wouldn’t have been some delicate waif in her youth, even with age that stole the color from her pinned back hair— it was clear she had the austere demeanor that came from martial training. While King Garon was no small man himself, it seemed to Hinoka that both his mother’s and father’s stock that had contributed to Marx’s impressive build. Her mother-in-law wore a long gown of dark purple satin edged with black lace, which made Hinoka’s brightly colored kimono loud by comparison.

Hinoka felt herself tense a little when Queen Ektrina turned to look at them as she and Marx approached the rows of chairs. “Princess Hinoka, my dear son,” she spoke with the same light tone she’d used on the day of the wedding. “Please do sit beside me for the performance.”

“Mother.” Although Marx didn’t smile, his voice was warm. “Thank you for the invitation, but I should check if father-”

“You know how the King is during performances, no one is allowed near him by a pace. Honestly, your father’s insufferably serious about being able to watch without disturbances. It takes all the fun out of such gatherings.” Queen Ektrina gestured again to the open chairs to her right and this time Marx simply nodded. But then he led Hinoka to the seat closest to his mother.

Hoping not to appear nervous she sat down gingerly, the material which covered the seat cushion was very slick against the silk of her kimono. As her husband took the remaining seat Hinoka folded her hands in her lap and needed only one measured breath to relax her body against the hard angles of the chair, with her shoulders back and head held high. No matter how intimidating her mother-in-law was, she had to remember to appear strong, to not show fear.

With that thought in mind, Hinoka turned toward the Nohrian queen and said, “Good evening, Queen Ektrina.”

Her mother-in-law’s stately head turned so that she looked her in the eye as she replied, “It is indeed a good eve. The first chance I’ve had to speak to you in person, Princess Hinoka. Are you looking forward to the performance tonight? It was specially arranged as the finale to your wedding celebration.”

“Yes, I am.” She debated for a moment if she should make any mention of the earlier incident. Then schooled her face into a politely neutral expression and said, “…I met Lala earlier in the gardens. She has no problem making herself be heard.”

“Oh, the Amusian Songstress?” Nohr’s queen hummed contemplatively but suddenly looked past her to ask, “Marx, whatever is the matter?”

Hinoka looked over to her husband and found his expression was his usual serious face. Although when she glanced down to where he had folded his hands together— his grip was tight enough that she could see the tendons straining on the back of his hands where his fingers pressed down against the fabric of his gloves. She wondered what else might’ve given this tension away that his mother had caught that she had missed?

Marx turned his head to speak to the queen, the cut of his eyes sharp. “Lord Peyton Boldt believed that he could overstep a royal decree and needs to be shown his place. I’ve been trying to think of the most appropriate method.”

Queen Ektrina inclined her head, and for once her tone was not light. “I will personally speak to the Duchess of Glamis about her second son’s behavior before her party makes their leave.” Then a subdued smile curled her purple-painted lips as the lightness returned to her voice. “Now, don’t let it trouble you any longer. We wouldn’t want the last night of your wedding celebration to be marred by such a thing.”

Marx nodded, though Hinoka could tell he still wasn’t relaxed from the tension in his folded hands. It sounded like the queen would handle the matter and put it to rest, though the Hoshidonese princess couldn’t guess what either of them considered ‘appropriate measures’. It was likely best not to wonder and simply ask at a later time.

With that thought in mind, Hinoka glanced around at makeshift performance stage they were seated before. It was constructed on a platform built on the branches of an enormously wide linden tree with scaffolding stairs led from the ground up to it. Despite the height and distance, the placement of their seats provided an unobstructed view. More of those ornate lanterns were set at its corners and illuminated the stage. Combined with the natural beauty of the garden itself, it really was a spectacular sight.

As she glanced about, Hinoka noticed on the other side of Queen Ektrina sat another woman— one she’d seen standing with the royal family at the wedding ceremony, one of Garon's concubines. Her figure was voluptuous and daringly displayed in the garb worn by all unmounted Nohrian dark mages. It was by the familiar features of her beautiful face, framed by indigo curls streaked with grey, that Hinoka realized this concubine must've been Camilla's mother

“Hello,” the indigo-haired woman greeted and it seemed Hinoka’s staring had not gone unnoticed.

“H-hello!” Though she scrambled to retain some dignity, the Hoshidonese princess felt a hot flush of embarrassment creeping onto her cheeks and this time there was no cream-colored makeup to hide it.

Suddenly a long note on an instrument was played and the entire garden grew hushed, save for the burbling of the spring’s fountain and the occasional twittering bird. A tune began to be played as the scaffolding stairs quietly creaked under the weight of the climber. Soon enough the songstress stepped onto the stage supported by the wide linden tree, the fading daylight and orange light of lanterns caused her to cast dramatic shadows as she moved.

There was a beat of silence— and then a high, clear note was sung and the music returned as she began to dance. Lala's movements were smooth as water, her entire body swayed into the beat of the music. Her bright eyes seemed to glow in the warm light, the blue flickering. She curled her hands inwards, rolled the wrists over one another as she twirled her fingers. During this entire motion lifted her arms above her head, her hips swaying from side to side.

Then she sang out words.

"I sowed the seeds of love, it was all in the spring.

In second month and third month, then first of summer,

Likewise, when small birds they do sing.

My garden's well planted with flowers everywhere,

Yet I had not the liberty to choose for myself,

The flower that I loved so dear.

My gardener he stood by,

I asked him to choose for me."

Hinoka swallowed at the song’s words. She wondered if Nohr’s king had ordered Lala to sing this song, or if the Amusian performer had chosen it herself? The lyrics were almost uncomfortably appropriate for a couple whose marriage had been— chosen for them, rather than letting them find and plant seeds of love. Her eyes closed for a moment as she tried to quiet such thoughts; opening them she forced herself not to think on the words but rather focus on the performance.

Lala allowed a wave of moment roll down her body as she leaned back slightly, before stood upright with a twirl. Her veil swirled around her, her pink and white clothes flashing against the light and shadows. And her beautiful, strong voice sang on.

"My gardener chose me the violet, lily, and tulip,

but those I refused all three.

The violet I forsook, because it fades so soon,

The common lily and tulip I did o'erlook,

And I vowed I'd stay till season next.

In the first month of summer there's a red rose-bud,

That's the flower for me!

Often have I admired the red rose-bud which grew wild and free."

The words wouldn’t be ignored and she found herself looking away from the stage.

Hinoka glanced at Marx and found him watching her from the corner of his eye— and his gaze didn’t waver when their eyes met. Instead he held it for a too long moment then pointedly looked down to her lap, where her hands were fisted in the silk of her kimono. Hinoka had the hysterical urge to laugh at how similar this moment was to the one where her husband had touched the back of her hand under the table in the great hall, but she pushed the urge down and made her hands relax. Yet when she looked to her husband again, he once more met her gaze then led it down— this time to his own lap where his hand closest to her lay palm-up and open.

An invitation. For a public display of affection? Or… a distraction, to help her not worry. Then she realized he’d had to have give up his own tension in the tight folding of his hands earlier in order to offer. Yet he’d not reached out like last time, so abruptly that she’s nearly jolted from her seat. Instead he’d opened his hand and patiently waited. No verbal demands had been made, and she doubted any would be should she refuse to reach out. He was letting her choose.

Hinoka kept her eyes on Marx’s as she placed her hand into his, while the songstress' voice seemed to echo up into the very sky above as the music played on.

"My gardener he stood by,

He told me to take great care,

For in the middle of a red rose-bud grows a sharp thorn there.

I told him I'd take no care till I did feel the smart,

When I plucked at the red rose-bud till it pierced to the heart.

Then all the world could plainly see,

I love one flower too much."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pictured the native roses of Nohr to be the small, five-petal variety which bloom once then lose the petals in favor of the growing rosehips. Tea roses from Hoshido can also be five petaled, but unlike the wild variety will bloom multiple times throughout the year and have bigger blossoms. (IRL hybrid roses are from Europeans crossbreeding their native plants with Chinese varieties, and the Middle East bred roses too.)
> 
> 'The seeds of love' is an old ballad that can be read in full and unaltered [here](http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/ballad12.html#082).
> 
> Thanks to [Isangma](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Isangma) for BETAing this chapter!


	6. A Bridge Of Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 10/2/2015, revised 4/8/2017.

All of the guests that had been gathered at Krackenstien Castle for the festivities had steadily exchanged goodbyes and left for their own lands. Spring was a busy season, with the sowing of crops and new chattel being birthed, it only made sense that no time would be wasted lingering in Vindam longer than was required. It would be a relief when the castle was empty of the crush of people, Marx could never fully relax when the nobility gathered for a full court. Only a handful of stragglers remained whom the Nohrian crown prince, Queen Ektrina, and King Garon had already to bid a formal farewell.

The next matter of concern was seeing the royal family of Hoshido off, escorting their entourage through the city and to the furthermost southeastern gate. Everything had been prepared and planned months before the event, but the heightened security had been implemented only recently and meant that the placement for the extra forces needed directing. Thankfully his younger brother had the suggestion that the additional guards would serve better in plainclothes observing the crowd for suspicious activity than further clogging the roads, so the issue had been solved. Leo had gone ahead eager to spend as much time with Camilla as was left. While Marx had personally given the additional guard instructions and his retainers oversaw that the castle staff handed out clothing that commoners would wear.

It had grown close to the time of departure, the Nohrian prince walked at a brisk pace to the front courtyard when he spied them. Two wyverns and two people just outside the corridor. These two were wyverns from old Nohrian stock, as was evident in shape of their large boxy heads, which was mostly jaw, and the dark coloration of the scales. Unlike wyverns bred in Chevalier which had longer snouts, thinner heads, and scales which tended to run lighter greys.

Wyverns had been tamed and ridden since before the founding of Vindam, even before the First Queen's birth. The great scaly beasts were incredibly adaptable, able to eat both decaying plants and animal remains as well as being willing to create dens so long as they could see the sky. With the large territory that Nohr spanned these flying mounts were as invaluable as horses. Although bipedal a wyvern's large leathery wings could somewhat act as forelegs when they chose walk along the ground. Thick hind legs with wide clawed feet balanced out their massive chest and heavy wings. Their long snake-like tail ended in a mass of claw-like barbs with which wyverns could whip assailants and prey.

The two wyverns were well-behaved, quietly sitting beside their masters. It wasn’t until he drew closer that Marx recognized the pair’s faces and house crests— they were highborn noblewomen from Glamis.

It was the duchess and one of her children. He knew that the Boldt bloodline tended towards dark hair, and some of them were bothered by that similarity to those from Hoshido— thus they dyed their whole head lighter colors, unlike Elise who dyed only small strands. This was evident with the duchess’ light blue coifed hair that lacked a single strand of grey, for Marx knew her to have trained alongside his mother as a wyvern rider and her face certainly bore age lines. Although the duchesses' daughter did not appear to follow this fad.

As he continued to approach them, the young brunette eyed him up and down in a way that had Marx thankful that they'd all been permitted to wear their uniforms and armor for the sendoff rather than the showier clothing of formal events. Both women bowed as he stopped before them, no hesitation or shallowness in the action, and he nodded his acknowledged. “Duchess Boldt, Lady Pashenka.”

“Prince Marx,” they replied almost in unison.

The older woman then made a grand gesture towards the younger. “Forgive the informality of this announcement, but Pashenka wanted to tell you in person while she had the chance.”

The young noblewoman didn’t speak until Marx looked at her full in the face. “My honorable mother has chosen me as the heir of Glamis. Thus I pray you shall not mind if I seek your counsel, Highness, when I come to court.”

Although half of the higher houses had extensive lineages that could be traced back to Queen Anya I and her eight knights, the other half of the heads were individuals who had proven themselves most capable and had their social status elevated accordingly— usually through military or civil service, though the rare heroic persons occasionally appeared. Similarly, heirship was only based on birth order and parentage when there was a sudden death and no formal heir had been named. More commonly the current holder of a peered title would choose from their legitimate children and name their heir. While things like being the child of a husband or wife rather than concubine could skew the choice in their favor, if the child in question was incompetent being named heir was highly unlikely at the risk of losing influence and lands because of incapable rule. Marx had been granted the title of crown prince and heir at ten-and-two years of age, after he'd accepted his engagement to the Hoshidonese princess for the sake of the alliance, much earlier than most formal choosing for the crown's heir occurred.

“Congratulations, Lady Pashenka. You must’ve worked hard indeed to earn the title.” Marx left her age unmentioned, but it truly surprised him that the ruler of Glamis had chosen one of her younger born children to be her heir. Then again, if the older were anything like her second son, maybe it wasn’t such a surprise. “When the high houses are summoned again, feel free to ask my opinion.”

The brunette then demurely averted her eyes and gave another bow as she murmured her thanks. Although her mother did nothing so demonstrative as a pat on the head, Marx could tell from the way the older woman watched her daughter that she’d been pleased with the exchange. But then the duchess’ eyes were squarely upon the prince as she asked, “Your Highness, would you pardon my heir to leave? I must speak to you in private.”

Marx nodded his approval, and without another word the brunette turned to her wyvern and lead it a polite distance away for takeoff. Though wind caused by the flap of its leathery wings as it became airborne was unavoidable, stirring both his cape and sash as well as the duchess’ skirts. When the dust had settled the noblewoman turned, unbuckled one of the saddlebags of her mount’s harness, and turned back with the retrieved item.

“I have something for you, Prince Marx.” The noblewoman held out a leather portfolio that crinkled with the sound of paper when he took it in hand. “Those are the documents necessary to cede Abaza over to the kingdom of Hoshido.”

The town of Abaza had been a point of contention all throughout the talks between the Hoshidonese royalty and Nohr's higher houses during this week. It was located at the midway point from Nohr to Hoshido and had been captured by both sides countless times throughout the past war. At this point no one knew which faction the territory had originally belonged to, though Leo theorized it had been a neutral, otherwise unimportant village caught up in the fight. Regardless the town had been seized by Nohr's army just before the armistice and later alliance with Hoshido had been announced over a decade prior.

Now in the give-and-take of trade negotiations Hoshido wanted the Abaza back. But many in court protested because Nohrian citizens had come to inhabit the town alongside the Hoshidans, and they did not trust the other kingdom to treat them rightly should the land be given over. The high house of Boldt had been the loudest voice on that side of the argument, in fact.

Marx made sure his brow didn’t rise with skepticism as he said, “This… is very gracious of you, Duchess Boldt.”

“Consider this both an apology for Peyton’s foolishness and a necessary sacrifice for the good of the kingdom.” Her eyes narrowed. “Though know I drew these documents up with the condition that Nohrian citizens may continue to live and work within the town and are given fair treatment. If I hear Suruga abuses our people, I will not hesitate to muster forces and take Abaza from him as I did before.”

The crown prince held back a sigh at the duchess’s mention of the Hoshidonese family which a bloodfeud with the Boldts were infamous for. As the westernmost territory of Hoshido and Easternmost territory of Nohr it was only natural that there would be friction between the governing families who had historically warred upon one another. However, it meant both were also the most stubborn in their opposition to the alliance between their kingdoms. The Boldts were an ancient house with both influence and large tracks of land in addition to a distant claim to the lineage of the royal family through Queen Anya I’s second wife’s child with her fifth husband, so they could not simply be brushed aside.

“Your support for our kingdom’s effort will not be forgotten, Duchess Boldt.” Marx carefully tucked the portfolio against his side. “I will personally inform King Sumeragi of the condition.”

The highborn woman nodded, but had more to say. “My prince, forgive my presumption, but I’ve heard rumors about your marriage contract.”

“And you wish for me to confirm or deny,” Marx stated what she’d left unsaid. Ever since the betrothal had taken place there’d been many speculations in the Nohrian court, some more farcical than others— but almost all had centered around Hoshidan morals and its differences. “What do you wish to know, Duchess Boldt?”

The duchess asked, “Is it true that there’s a clause stipulating that Princess Hinoka shall be your only spouse and that you’re to take no others to your bed— concubine or lover, woman or man?”

“You’ve heard rightly.” Marx was relieved that she was interested in the legality rather than details. “Princess Hinoka shall be my one and only wife, and the heirs to Nohr’s throne will come only through my union with her.”

When the alliance had been hammered out in Chevalier between Garon and King Sumeragi, the Hoshidan had insisted from the start that his children would not be disgraced by having to share their spouse. His father had agreed to abide by the requirement, thus the children who joined in marriage were expected to do the same. The monogamous arrangement went against the traditions for the Nohrian higher houses. He was sure there were many noble families bitter about the complete lack of opportunity for a child of their bloodline to compete for the crown. Privately, Marx thought it rather practical not to have to anticipate infighting which harems inevitably brought.

The noblewoman’s expression did not change as he confirmed the rumor. Yet when she spoke, her voice was waspish, "Then I shall pray the children take after you, for the good of the kingdom."

Marx frowned at her words. It was well known that Duchess Boldt viewed Hoshidans as opponents at best, but to so blatantly discount Princess Hinoka before she'd been given a chance to prove her worth— was troubling. Such ingrained hatreds meant unreasonable actions, and her sphere of influence was considerable. It would do his newly wedded wife no favors for a large portion of the high houses to be poisoned against her by virtue of opinion alone. A worse conundrum was if he could ever change such mindsets? Or would he have to resort to the brutal methods his father had used to suppress dissidents?

Before Marx could voice any questions, however, the Duchess bowed. “Good day, Prince Marx. Until the court is called once more.”

It’d be more trouble than it was worth to try and force such an influential woman to linger, so the prince nodded permission. Soon enough the ruler of Glamis and her wyvern had taken to the air and risen out of sight. Leaving the Nohrian prince to ponder if there was more than a long-held grudge behind the duchess’ words.

When he came upon the scene in the front courtyard, it was organized chaos. The castle staff was hastily putting finishing touches upon the carriages and teams that pulled them as well as ensuring the luggage on the outgoing were firmly secured. Various mounts were gathered about the edges, the handlers trying to keep both horses and wyverns calm amidst the crowded bustle. The entire retinue from Hoshido was gathered— servants, retainers, and royalty alike —they stood in bunches talking amongst themselves. Marx spied his own family scattered amongst them. Hinoka spoke with Prince Ryouma and a red-haired Hoshidan. Not far from them were Camilla, Leo, and his sister’s blonde retainer who appeared to be flirting with his younger brother. While Princess Sakura stood with Elise whose face was in a full pout as a swordswoman with mousy brown hair laughed.

The escort to the gate and then return to the castle would act as a parade, allowing the citizens of Vindam to gather and witness the crown prince’s bride. Marx knew one of his destrier’s saddlebags was packed full of coin to throw to the crowds when they made the return trip through the city streets, a bit more of a spectacle than he usually liked but it wouldn’t hurt to engender the common folk’s good-will towards the Hoshidonese princess. Queen Ektrina had declined to participate, and so the royal concubines were required to do the same. Though Marx knew the only reason Nohr’s queen would do so was that she felt too unwell to get out of bed— participating in the festivities must’ve taken their toll on his mother’s health.

He tried not to dwell on concerns he could not improve. Instead the Nohrian prince looked over the crowd for signs of his father, but found that Camilla had broken away from her circle and was coming towards him. With her master gone Charlotte began to flirt even more shamelessly, and though Leo’s expression hadn’t changed from his vantage point Marx could see the way his brother’s hands fisted behind his back in annoyance.

There was laughter in Camilla’s voice as she asked, “Am I interrupting anything?” She undoubtedly was aware of how her retainer acted, thus knew what she’d left their younger brother to deal with.

“No.” Marx turned his full attention to his sister. Although she still carried herself with regal grace, he could tell she was discomforted by the way she kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other. It prompted him to say, "I'm amazed you traveled here from Hoshido in your condition."

"Marx dear, I'm with child, not ill. And even if I was I wouldn't let anything stop me from returning." With a soft eyes Camilla placed a hand over the slight swell of her belly. "Ryouma promised me that I would attend your wedding, brother. He kept his word, even if hard pressed after this became evident."

Part of him still disbelieved that Camilla was with child, even with the clear evidence before him. The memories of bidding her farewell last spring, her figure still with a corseted-small waist, seemed almost more real to him. Forcing such thoughts from his mind, Marx instead asked, “Are you ready for the journey back to Hoshido?”

“As much as one can be ready to leave home behind,” she answered, tone wistful.

He nodded. Marx had come to terms with the fact that his family wouldn’t stay together in one place, but that past year he’d felt powerless should Camilla need his aid. They’d exchanged many letters, though she’d written of homesickness and never of being wronged, still the distance had felt too far. In his younger years had he heard his sister was mistreated there would’ve been no doubt he’d throw off the alliance and ride to her aid, but now… Hoshido was so far, even if he broke every tie and mustered the army it would likely all for naught. Marx understood well why Prince Ryouma had wanted to test him, see what mettle he was made of— no doubt feeling that same helplessness at leaving Hinoka in Nohr.

That week Marx had asked Camilla how her life was in Hoshido, if any had wronged her. Camilla had simply smiled and told him stories of her time there. How she was able to freely roam the castle and capital city of Shirazaki, with ugly looks being the greatest danger in that peaceful kingdom. How she’d seen Charlotte charm many men by enticing with her Nohrian features, while Belka had actually begun to slowly come out of her shell with nothing but body guarding work to occupy her time. How Camilla had begun to teach both princesses of Hoshido to sew, how she’d found them both to be sweet and guileless. How Prince Ryouma had been moved when she’d restored the embroidery of a small green frog upon his favorite haori that Queen Ikona had sewn into the cloth for luck. How King Sumeragi was attempting to change the rigid nature of his kingdom’s traditions, how many of those who supposedly swore loyalty to the king opposed his efforts.

“Marx.” His sister's voice drew him out of those murky thoughts. For a while Camilla appeared lost in thought, then asked, “Have you ever… thought about what it’d be like to leave it all the behind?” He quirked a brow and his sister knew that meant for her to continue. “The court, the intrigue, having to fulfill the promises of others. Have you ever dreamt what it’d be like to have a life free of it all?”

“No!” The word came out more forcefully than he’d intended. Marx closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “No, I’ve never had such fantasies. The life of a mercenary or commoner is hardly exempt from suffering.” He opened his eyes and looked to his sister. She was watching him carefully. Out of all his family, Camilla was perhaps the most skilled at giving an answer while dodging the question. He measured his words, “Camilla, to be free-”

“You needn’t worry. I haven't the resolve to abandon either of my families over a fantasy.” Marx held back a flinch as she threw his own words at him, but suppose he deserved it. Still, Camilla smiled as she spoke, “I was simply curious if this marriage had you feeling trapped, my dear brother.”

Marx gave sigh at that, wondering if carrying a child had her feeling shackled. Its birth would establish the alliance of their kingdoms in blood, and live on as it grew to one day ascend Hoshido's throne. It was momentous— yet it may also have made his sister feel more like a pawn on a board than a valued person. Still their fathers had made these choices for the good of their people and he did not regret fulfilling them, so he shook his head.

His sister’s smile became less fixed and more genuine. He could tell the tension she’d had when she’d first approached him was gone by the way Camilla took his hands in hers. Yet her tone was tinged with caution as she said, “Many in Hoshido still see Nohr as their enemy. It’s our actions that will prove them wrong.”

“Does Princess Hinoka hold this view?” Marx asked, though the words irritated his mouth like a hair on the tongue.

His sister didn’t reply immediately, briefly closing her eyes before answering, “She thought this way once, in her youth, but has only showed me kindness since I’ve come to live in Hoshido. Don’t give Hinoka a reason to regret her change of mind, dear brother.” Camilla’s tension melted and one of her hands rose to curl a strand of pale purple hair about a finger. “She is a good match for you. You should’ve seen how wide her eyes were when I told her about the story of our long-eared cat.”

Marx clenched his teeth at the thought of Camilla sharing even one of their embarrassing childhood memories. “You didn’t.”

“I know you men don’t want your pride harmed by being called cute, but that’s precisely what Hinoka thought.” His sister openly giggled, “Has my sister-in-law had the honor of meeting Sir Meu?”

The crown prince of Nohr huffed out a long breath. “Not yet. Joker agreed to keep the animal in his own quarters until princess Hinoka had finished moving her belongings into my rooms.”

Camilla’s hand moved to cover her open mouth. “But that long-eared cat hates him!”

Marx solemnly explained, “Joker has always had the duty of feeding Meu. Along with bathing. He volunteered and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Such sacrifices that boy makes for his beloved master.” Camilla’s eyes were twinkling with repressed laughter. Marx grunted in agreement. There were many times he’d suspected Joker would’ve refused to do something if he hadn’t been involved.

“You two seem close.”

They were both surprised to find King Sumeragi standing before them. The Hoshidan must’ve made a stealthy approach to have not alerted either of them to his presence. Marx dipped into a hasty bow as Camilla did the same. Although his sister didn’t sound flustered as she said, “Your Majesty. The crown prince and I are close, like two peas in a pod. Our mothers practically raised us together, after all.”

“Oh?” The king of Hoshido gave a crooked smile as his eyes glanced to Camilla. “So your mother is the Queen’s favorite then?”

“Father-in-law, you certainly wasted no time in learning this court’s gossip.” Camilla’s tone was full of laughter again. “Yes, my mother is officially a concubine to both King Garon and Queen Ektrina. Which meant Marx and myself weren’t as separated when younger as the other royal concubine’s children were.”

King Sumeragi’s smile disappeared as he muttered, “Some of this land’s ways will never fail to baffle me… What good comes from dividing children?” Before anything could be said, however, the Hoshidonese king continued, “Daughter-in-law, if you could so kind as to allow me a private word with your brother, I would be grateful.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Camilla gave Marx’s hand that she held a reassuring squeeze, before she let go and walked away from the two men.

There was silence when they were left alone, and Marx suddenly found his father-in-law’s gaze heavy. He didn't look Marx up and down, but it almost felt like he did; as if in this one look he'd summed up all he needed to know about the Nohrian crown prince. What King Sumeragi's judgement of him was Marx couldn't guess, but he did his best to meet that considering gaze and not flinch.

However, when he’d inadvertently tensed, the crinkling of papers reminded him of what needed to be delivered. Marx held out the leather portfolio and said, “These documents are from Duchess Boldt, ceding the town of Abaza to Hoshidan sovereignty on the condition that Nohrian citizens are permitted to continue to live and work there and are treated with dignity.”

King Sumeragi took the offered portfolio, his face solemn. “I’ll see to it that Lord Suruga is gracious in accepting and upholding these terms. You have my thanks, Prince Marx. You will not regret working so hard all throughout this week for the betterment of our kingdoms.”

He didn't sound aggressive, but still Marx felt the force of the Hoshidonese king’s words, the weight of will behind them— daring him to resist, brooking no argument if he did. It reminded the Nohrian prince not of his own father’s authoritative tone, thunderous and rumbling as a storm, but of the time his wife had derided him for agreeing blindly rather than questioning. Hearing that same tone from his father-in-law both made sense and had him suddenly ill at ease.

Marx had to clear his throat. “I wouldn’t say everything I’ve done this week was difficult-” He then realized what the king might think he was implying, and hurriedly added, “My apologies if I or any of my countrymen have seemed ungrateful of Hoshido’s efforts, King Sumeragi.”

The king of Hoshido offered another crooked smile. “Do not dwell upon those who doubt the wisdom in our kingdom’s efforts for peaceful coexistence. There is no instance of a nation benefiting from prolonged warfare.”

Marx nodded, but still couldn’t quiet the nervousness underlying his thoughts. King Sumeragi eyes were appraising once more as he said, "I've seen the way you watch the world, seeing much yet saying little."

 _That's necessary for survival_ , Marx thought, but didn't speak aloud. What could he say, when the reason why he observed was so he wouldn't miss the glint of a blade before it tried to plunge into his back? That the risk was to have his eyes knocked from his skull if he refused to look? Could a ruler of a largely peaceful country understand not being safe even within one’s home? Would he still leave his daughter in Nohr if he was told?

Before Marx could stew further, King Sumeragi spoke again. "You're just as observant with Hinoka. She’s accustomed to having many eyes upon her but too often they’d been judging, with ugly talk behind her back. Please be sure to not be so quiet with my daughter, instead share your thoughts on what you see." Marx couldn’t hold back a flinch when King Sumeragi’s hands abruptly gripped his shoulders. “I look forward to seeing the world you two build together.”

Then with another smile, the king of Hoshido released him with a pat to the shoulder, and strode away. Marx forced his stiff legs to move into the courtyard, even if his mind was at a loss at how he should react. So with a deep breath Marx stifled the feeling and concentrated upon the task at hand: the departure.

And not a moment after he’d done so did King Garon appear in the courtyard. Finally, his father had arrived— the escort for the departure could begin.

Rather than riding his own horse, Garon had conceded to sit beside Elise across from Sumeragi and Sakura in the open carriage in a show of solidarity. Leo would be riding his own steed near the back, wanting the best position to see any attempted attacks. His sister had managed to cajole the Hoshidonese prince into riding her wyvern through the city, though from Prince Ryouma’s stiff posture behind Camilla in the saddle he’d likely dismount once through the city gate. Hinoka had already agreed to ride double with him on Froh, he hadn’t even had to explain the Nohrian tradition for newlyweds to share the saddle to convince her.

His wife had dressed in her full armor and uniform as a tenma warrior complete with thigh-high riding boots, long scarf modestly covering her neck. As he offered a hand and helped his wife climb into the saddle, he couldn't help but admire how the outfit suited her well. As Hinoka swung herself into the seat before him, Marx became very aware of how snugly both of their bodies fit into the saddle. She was small enough that he could easily reach the reins with her between his arms, but he couldn’t help but worry that she felt crowded.

“Are you comfortable?” Marx asked softly, not wanting others to hear as he moved Froh to the front of the procession.

“Yes,” Hinoka replied just as quietly, continuing to face forwards. “A little snug, but I don’t mind.”

“So Garon!” King Sumeragi’s voice suddenly rang out behind them, far too loudly to be meant for private conversation. “With our children united in marriage the only thing that remains is for our bloodlines to be solidified through heirs. Soon enough this alliance shall become a legacy!”

His father laughed just as loudly. “This is true, Sumeragi! A year's hardly passed and already a baby's on the way. It's almost unfair that my kingdom must wait.” The sharp _tsk_ , made the Nohrian prince’s hands clench on the reins even though he was not the one to which the sound of disappointment was directed.

Marx did his best to keep the wash of embarrassment he felt from his face. Loudly, he kings continued to talk about increasing the chances for future grandchildren, despite Elise’s protests that the subject was ‘gross’. He tensed when his wife leaned so that almost all of her back was in contact with his front.

With her head tipped, and Hinoka whispered, "Our fathers turn everything into a competition."

Marx allowed for the edges of his mouth to curl and he whispered back, "...it’s easy to place bets when you’re not in the running."

He felt more than heard Hinoka’s laughter as the gates to the front castle courtyard opened and they paraded through the streets of Vindam.

The weeks’ worth of wedding celebrations had ended a month ago. Camilla had gone back to Hoshido and Hinoka had stayed with him in Nohr. Although she had obvious moments of homesickness, Marx found that his wife had fallen into the routine of Krackenstein Castle rather swiftly. The time off during the marriage meant that the crown prince of Nohr now had work to make up, despite his best efforts Marx found he’d had to call extra meetings and that his desk was still piled with a backlog of documents and unanswered correspondence. This meant he’d not seen Hinoka much during the daylight hours, and more often than not rose from bed before his wife woke.

Yet Joker assured him that the Hoshidonese princess was busy with her own schedule, as she needed further training in all the intricacies of etiquette in addition to dance lessons, history lessons, lessons on law and government, and the memorization of the current power players in politics. His butler hoped to have the Hoshidonese princess fully prepared before the heads of the higher houses were formally summoned to Vindam for court in the winter.

When Gunther had heard of Joker’s plans for the Hoshidonese princess, he had laughed and told the prince that she was ‘perfect as she was’. While Marx hoped the lessons would give his wife a bit more confidence during gatherings, he found his old retainer’s estimation apt. He wanted Hinoka to remain honest and forthright as she was now… although he knew not all of Nohr’s nobility would appreciate that sort of attitude. Either way the court would have to be dealt with.

Already courtiers were attempting to ply Marx with suggestions of worthy candidates for his wife's ladies-in-waiting, but he rebuffed them. Hinoka shouldn't have to concern herself with choosing until the lessons had been completed and she had time to spend in private chambers with such company. And even once her lessons were completed, he’d begin to divide his duties to share and allow her grow accustomed to Nohr’s style of government— free time would remain scarce in quantity.

However, for his own schedule, the early morning hours were his to do with as he pleased. Which usually boiled down to one bell of intense training, occasionally sparring, followed by a candlemark and a half for a daily ride. Two tenma now lived in the royal stables of Krackenstein Castle, Hinoka's white and his black.

Every other morning, rather than riding out on Froh, Marx brought his sky horse to the equestrian arena near the stables. The tenma had been relatively untrained and he found it soothing to guide his new mount over the various obstacles on the course. Although he didn't consider this steed trained enough yet to take to the skies alone, it did prove to be an excellent jumper— and unlike his destrier it did not balk at water hazards. However, though the animal was fleet its strength on the ground without the use of its wings couldn't match that of his stallion and the Nohrian prince had to carefully watch its endurance.

He'd need to start taking the black sky horse out for flights if he was to train the animal properly, and should likely request a few wyverns riders to accompany him. But Camilla and her retainer were gone, and it was difficult to relax with riders he didn't know. Also the smell of wyverns put horses and tenma alike on edge, which was why the great scaly beasts were kept on the other side of the castle in the mews rather than the stables— he imagined flying out with them would only make the black sky horse more difficult to handle.

That particular morning Marx had finished his sword training before the sun had risen, and had used lances for his spar with Cyrus. The young knight usually accompanied the prince when he rode Froh, but since he planned to ride the tenma Gunther instead ordered his protégé to stay and spar more. So Marx had headed to the stables alone.

The early spring storms had finally passed over Vindam though grounds held the lingering scent of rain, the shadows still damp. The morning was pleasant for the lack of gusty winds while the earthy scent of horse and hay hung heavy in the early morning air. The Nohrian prince encountered his wife as he was headed along the stables' exterior to the stalls where the tenma were housed.

“Setsuna, you got up early!” Marx recognized Hinoka’s voice before he caught sight of her colorful form standing in the open area. A bluenette woman wearing Hoshidonese garb stood with her. His wife had previously introduced as her retainer who practiced the bow and arrow.

“No…” By the tone of her voice the Hoshidan was half asleep. “I came straight here because I slept in, Your Highness.”

“Wait, then you didn’t drop by the mews to tell them to ready your Golden Kite for our morning flight?” Hinoka sounded flustered by the news.

The question didn’t bring a change to the retainer’s sleepy tone, “No… Apologies, my lady.”

His wife however did not grow angry or stern, simply gave a resigned sigh at her retainer’s incompetence. Joker had reported that when the weather wasn’t ugly his wife had a habit of taking her tenma out for flights in the morning, accompanied by one of her retainers who rode a large yellow bird. Hinoka usually rode early enough that he was still weapons training and missed her time spent at the stables. Discovering her here was an opportunity Marx intended not to miss.

“Pardon me,” Marx called out as he walked briskly to join the two women, who turned to him with surprised expression. “If it isn’t an imposition, may I take your retainer’s place and join you for this morning flight, Princess Hinoka?”

The Hoshidonese princess looked at him with wide eyes, then said, “O-of course!” The smile that made Marx think of sunshine brightened Hinoka’s entire face. “I’d enjoy flying together.”

Marx allowed for a subdued smile of his own. “Excellent.” After giving one of the stable hands the order to prepare both tenma for riding, he turned back to his wife. “It’ll be the first chance I’ve had to allow my sky horse to take wing. If an expert such as yourself is there I’m sure the flight will be a success.” The compliment of her expertise had the Hoshidonese princess grinning and he felt that this would be a good morning.

“Then… can I go back to bed?” Setsuna abruptly asked, though her voice was hardly more than a murmur. Still Hinoka nodded her ascent, the Hoshidan meandered away from the stables and back towards the castle proper. It seemed his wife’s choice in retainers ran as eccentrically as his younger siblings.

While Hinoka watched her retainer, the Nohrian prince covertly studied her riding outfit. The Hoshidonese uniform was both practical and elegant. The cut of the bright material only just drew attention to the gentle swell of her breasts, the taper of her waist, and curve of her hips lingering just below the surface of her clothes– the long lines of her legs were especially emphasized by the tall riding boots and short skirt. Although the Nohrian prince was convinced his observations were biased by his knowledge of how good Hinoka looked naked.

Thankfully his eyes were lingering on her swan-like neck when she suddenly turned her head. “That didn’t take long.”

The Nohrian prince glanced in the direction of her gaze and saw that their mounts had been readied. The stable hands had brought out their sky horses, both in harness and tack but lacking the barding— since they were going for a simple ride rather than into combat. Unlike the campaign or leisure saddles used for horses, these tenma required a specialized saddle with a high pommel and cantle, a deep seat, and stirrups that could secure a rider's boots to reduce the chances of being unseated. The white one’s was in the style of Hoshido which Hinoka had brought with her, and his own sky horse’s saddle had been purchased along with the animal itself by his father.

Hinoka's tenma chuffed at her as she took the reins, its breath stirred the short strands of her red hair until its head lowered as she affectionately petted its nose. Its wings and coat shone silky, the sky horse was such a spotless white that the edges of its feathers and tail looked transparent even in the cloudy light of day. Once Marx had taken the reins, the stable hands removed the soft nets from leashing the wings to its sides and the black sky horse gave a whinny. The moment they stepped back, the tenma flexed its wings— but it didn't try fully extend them or tug at the reins Marx held. Instead the sky horse waited for the Nohrian prince to lead it, as he had been doing for weeks now.

Marx gave the tenma a gentle pat on the neck for its obedience and promised, "You'll fly today."

When he turned around he found that Hinoka was staring with an expression that resembled someone having found something both grotesque and fascinating from which they were unable to look away. It took the Nohrian prince a moment to realize she wasn’t in fact staring at him, but his sky horse. This he found even more curious. “Is something wrong? You look… perturbed.”

“Oh!” Hinoka seemed to snap out of a daze. “Um, it’s just, I’ve never been this close a fully grown black tenma before.”

That had Marx quirking a brow in confusion. “Sky horses originate from Hoshido, I would’ve thought you’d seen all the kinds there are.”

“Well, this is a bit embarrassing to admit.” She paused with a troubled expression, but cleared her throat and continued, “There are many in Hoshido which you could call superstitious. It is considered an ill omen if a dark-colored tenma is foaled, so most ranches that breed them… slaughter any that’re born and pretend it never happens.”

“They kill tenma not because of health or defects or resources, but over color?” He couldn’t hold back a grimace at the thought of so many beautiful creatures dying for such a petty reason. “That is such a waste.”

“I honestly hadn’t really thought about it before King Garon gifted you one. All the tenma in the Shirazaki stables are lightly colored, with white being most favored.” As Marx watched her face Hinoka drew her bottom lip between her teeth, the way she did when she was not only thinking but also fretting. “I know some ranchers are more soft-hearted, and release the dark tenma into the wild instead. Though since the animals come from domesticated stock, it’s essentially killing them…”

Her expression grew somber, such a far cry from the sunny smile she had greeted him with moments ago. He hadn’t meant to upset his wife’s good mood, and he certainly wasn’t blaming the Hoshidonese princess for something that’d likely been happening since before either of them were even conceived. The Nohrian prince felt his brow crease as he thought hard in how he might make her feel better.

When he spoke, Marx had to keep an edge of irritation out of his voice at his own missteps. “Perhaps not. Tenma are rare in Nohr, but sightings of wild flocks have been reported.” That statement garnered a curious noise from Hinoka. “Some of the horse ranches have taken to hiring wyvern riders to catch them, then the ranchers break them in. Since one like mine will fetch a small fortune at market.” Marx stroke a hand down his sky horses’ neck, again marveling at the solid black. “And here black is considered the luckiest color.”

Hinoka gave a short laugh, though she stifled it. “That explains a lot about Nohr’s fashion.”

Her words had him huff out a chuckle and his wife smiled. Though he noticed that her eyes lingered on his sky horse and held a tinge of sadness. Still with reins in hand the both of them lead their mounts away from the stables and along a path from which their tenma could attempt flight.

Quiet descended between them, with only the sharp clack of metal-shod hooves on the cobblestones and crunch of gravel to fade into the background noise. Despite his attempt at cheer it seemed he’d sent his wife into her own mind for contemplation, and he fought the urge to try and draw her back out for more conversation as they walked. When Hinoka halted her tenma, Marx couldn’t hold back his words and longer.

He stopped his own skyhorse. “Do you think Hoshido would be willing to sell darkly colored tenma to Nohr? I’m certain our horse breeders would be interested and more than willing to set aside white ones if your people would like to purchase in turn.”

Hinoka glanced at him, looking puzzled for a moment before she said, “I’d honestly have to consult with my father or brother, the merchant families are very set in their ways. But that’d be a far less cruel way to deal with the dark tenma, so I’ll write about it in the next letter I send home.”

He nodded and they both made to climb into their saddles.

“You’re a problem solver, Prince Marx.” Hinoka smiled then gracefully mounted the white tenma in one, single smooth motion.

“Nothing’s been solved yet, but I try.” Marx said as he settled into the seat.

And with that same grace, the Hoshidonese princess nudged the tenma forward and it broke into a fluid run without the slightest hesitation.

Focusing, his eyes narrowed and he spurred his mount. The sky horse lurched forward into a full gallop, Marx leaned forward and loosened its reins as he felt its body tense underneath him. Then its wings fully extended and pushed them off the ground. The heavy flaps seemed to echo in his ears, where the wind whistled by as they rose higher. Until finally he felt a moment of weightlessness as the tenma found its desired height and leveled out its flight, gliding through the air with Krackenstien Castle and then all of Vindam far below them.

There was something about rising up from the earth and being surrounded by vast expanse of sky— a hemmed in by nothing but horizon. An almost frightening amount of freedom. The black sky horse leaned on the wind as it began to circle and wheel as he saw Hinoka's mount was doing. Its magnificent feathered wings were fully extended, only occasionally gave a hard flap with a drum-like beat as they glided. He felt the tenma's muscles working as it's legs continued to run, its hooves kicked against the air as if by magic.

This was his first time riding the black sky horse in flight, and the animal responded beautifully in its natural element. Although he was making little effort to direct it, it responded to his hold of the reins without protest and moved with a compliance that’d yet to happen when he directed it through the obstacles of the equestrian arena on the ground. Marx remembered that up until now its wings had been bound unless the feathers needed grooming, perhaps even the obstacles would go smoothly if the tenma was always allowed use of its wings— though it’d likely be better to guide it through the skytraps that riders used to train their wyverns.

As they glided, his hair whipped back on the breeze. The air was thin this high, and cold as it battered his exposed skin. They were elevated enough to skim just beneath the clouds and the ground below rushed by in an indistinguishable blur.

Marx had ridden a flying mounts before, having been trained how to handle wyverns alongside horse riding. But his first flight had been when he'd been a small child, in the lap of his mother atop her silvery great wyvern. It was one of the few memories that was hazy for Marx, it must've happened when he was very young indeed. He recalled the warmth of his mother holding him and the chill of the high air, but mostly he remembered a giddy breathlessness that he'd only experienced again when he'd wielded Siegfried for the first time.

As their tenma circled in compass turns, crossing by one another, Marx saw that very expression upon Hinoka's face. It made him wonder at the sight she must've made in Hoshido's clear skies, chasing after the sun on her white skyhorse. Even here in overcast skies, the Hoshidonese princess shone brightly. Watching her, Marx lost track of time and reveled in gliding through the open air.

It was only when Hinoka’s temna abruptly pulled up and dove down that the Nohrian prince tightened the reins to do the same. The black skyhorse shook its head, fighting the direction, but when Marx did not ease up on the steady pressure the animal obeyed and flew down towards the castle. There was a momentary freefall as the tenma descended, large wings angled down until they neared the ground and then they opened to beat against the air. This action slowed the descent considerably, but still his entire body juddered with the force of the landing.

He noticed his wife was already off her sky horse and standing on her own feet, by the time he’d recomposed himself from the landing and swung out of the saddle. Hinoka was laughing, "It did not rain today, so we were able to fly together! It's a little bit like the magpies that bring Orihime and Hikoboshi together on Tanabata."

Gathering the reins of his black tenma, he approached her. "I'm not sure what you speak of. Would you mind explaining when we retire later today?"

"I was being careless with my words, but I'm glad you're curious.” Her face was rosy with a blush, as were the tops of her ears and the tip of her nose similarly reddened. “I'll tell you all about the romance of the Sky King's daughter and the Cow Herder tonight."

He nodded and didn’t move when his wife removed her gloves and laid the backs of her hands against his cheeks. Marx realized that his face was cold, whipped by the winds, yet Hinoka's hands were warm enough to almost feel hot against his chilled skin. He felt his heart start to race in a way the flight hadn’t elicited as she said with a smile, “You’re all red.”

Marx took a deep breath— but then heard footsteps disturb the gravel. Hinoka lowered her arms as they turned and spied the servants headed up the path towards them, undoubtedly having spotted their tenma’s descent. A few stables-hands ran up, bowed, and then received the reins to guide both sky horses back to their stalls in the stables, as he and Hinoka trailed after. The Nohrian prince and Hoshidonese princess didn’t exchange words as they walked, but Marx found that this quiet felt companionable, comfortable— and was privately relieved to be given time to calm his racing pulse.

Marx and Hinoka continued to follow their tenma until the stable hands had hitched the sky horses in an open yet indoor area, then quickly removed the harnesses and tack. This place was meant for grooming and other care before the animal was placed into their stall to eat and rest. It seemed that both of royals were in the habit of grooming their mounts after a ride, despite the fact it was a task the stable’s staff were paid to do.

As Marx walked up to the black tenma, its head turned and it whickered at Marx. The Nohrian prince paused retrieved several dried apple slices from a pouch on his belt, then held them in his open palm in offering— which his sky horse lipped up happily. When the prince's hand was emptied of treats the tenma then tried to slobber on his shoulders in a request for more, but tossed its head when Marx shrugged the attempts off.

He heard Hinoka laugh at these antics, and as he moved to pick up the hoof pick he asked her, "Would you like any for your tenma?"

She smiled but shook her head. "Senshi's already going to get a bucket of oats. Anything more would spoil her."

He nodded and set to checking the sky horse’s hooves for rocks and other debris caught in the shoes. He peeked up to find his wife finishing the same task on her own mount, and when he was done he indulged his curiosity. Switching the hook for a curry brush, he stood properly and asked, "Why do you groom your tenma?"

"What?” Hinoka glanced at him over her shoulder, “You mean, instead of letting someone else do it?"

He nodded as he set to brushing, "Mmm."

"Well... Unlike Nohr, not many people in Hoshido have mounts or ride. When I began my training as a tenma warrior, they taught us that grooming was a way of building trust between rider and animal. And personally..." The white skyhorse wuffled softly as its large head nudged Hinoka's arm. She reached up and ruffled the mane between her pink ears. "I see it as a way to thank Senshi for all her hard work and patience. It only seems right."

The idle thought that one day Hinoka would make for a caring mother cross his mind and Marx fought a smile. "I can tell your tenma trusts you. I'm sure this kindness you show it is one of the reasons why."

Hinoka was comfortable in the routine, she groomed her mount smoothly and swiftly. Marx was well practiced in cleaning hooves and brushing, but he was still growing accustomed to tending the tenma's feathered wings. He set about carefully clipping damaged or crooked feathers, it was a rather tedious task that required his full attention.

"How long have you groomed your mounts?" Hinoka asked.

“Since I was a squire,” he responded distractedly. His lapse in concentration caused Marx to accidentally cut a bit too close on a feather— when it began to bleed the black sky horse snorted with alarm and began to stamp its feet. But before it grew more upset Hinoka had come over and caught the bridle, holding firmly as she petted its neck and made soft shushing sounds. The tenma responded nicely, calming and was soon quite docile.

"Thank you." He set down the clips.

His wife smiled at him, and continued to pet the black tenma— her hesitation from earlier seemed to be complete gone. Then she asked him, “Why do you take the time to groom?”

“As a child my retainers encouraged me to do so, as king I must care-take and now…” Marx pondered how he might phrase it so as not to make himself appear strange. "It is a philosophy most in Nohr hold, that life is far too harsh to turn happiness away when it finds you."

Hinoka watched him with curious eyes. "So grooming the horses brings you happiness?"

"There’s more to life than being happy." The look she gave him was profoundly sad and edging pity, so he amended, “But I have my moments.”

His wife expression became unreadable and she turned her gaze instead to his sky horse. Marx guessed that she’d been thinking on what he’d said despite his efforts. He didn’t want such a good morning to end so sourly, so the prince proposed “This animal still needs a name. Princess Hinoka, would you do the honor?"

“ _He_ needs a name. This tenma’s still barely more than a colt, despite the way he’s been making eyes at my mare.” His wife’s expression looked more amused than disapproving as she continued to stroke the neck. “What do you think of _Kouun_?”

“Kouun,” Marx tested the name, and though his pronunciation wasn’t quite right it still rolled off his tongue. “That name has a nice sound to it. What does it mean?”

Hinoka’s smile bloomed into a grin as she answered, “It’s old Hoshidan for good fortune.”

 _Black is lucky._ She’d remembered. Marx set his hand beside Hinoka’s on Kouun’s neck. “That is a good name.”

Suddenly, the great bell set high in the steeple of the castle sanctuary began to chime. The Nohrian prince cursed under his breath, he was running late for a meeting with Leo to go over the investigation of the would-be assassins. However, as he stepped back Hinoka reached out and touched him. Her hold was light, non-restrictive; he could break out of any hold she got him in, but the way she was touching him told him she wouldn't mind if he did.

Marx stopped and looked to her face, where a hot flush was creeping across her cheeks. Hinoka seemed to gather herself and her words practically burst, “Could we take dinner in your rooms together? There’s a lot to Tanabata and the Weaver’s myth that I’d like to tell you tonight.”

The tendency had been that the royal family gathered for the midday meal, while breaking fast and taking supper on their own terms. He’d been spending most evenings at his desk, eating distractedly while reading and signing documents, often remaining there until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer before heading to a bed— where his wife’s warmth would lull him to sleep in mere moments. It would not be so bad to set aside an evening for his wife.

Marx took Hinoka’s hand in his and chastely kissed the back of it. “You have my word. Tonight I am yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sumeragi quotes Sun Tzu with the line, "There is no instance of a nation benefitting from prolonged warfare."
> 
> I gave Setsuna a Golden Kite so she might stay close to Hinoka— cause it's hard to bodyguard when you aren't even on the same plain as them.
> 
> In the [Tsubaki/Luna support](http://pastebin.com/9b5md60s) he mentions that pegasus are different than tenma AND THEN also mentions “dark falcon”. But for the sake of worldbuilding I’m just having the dark falcon be black-colored tenma.


	7. Tangled Web We Weave - part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some possibly triggering content is in this chapter. If that concerns you, please read [this page](https://damoselceles.dreamwidth.org/4017.html) where the warning is detailed. Know that the trigger listing also acts as mild spoilers for this chapter.
> 
> Originally posted 1/5/2016, revised 5/9/2016.

There was no other way to phrase it— Hinoka had fled. Run and hidden after three straight weeks of having the etiquette and decorum of Nohr drilled into her head. As if the tedium of standing or sitting in a certain fashion, wear high-heeled shoes that forced one to walk on their tiptoes, and practicing every word before speaking would somehow be the way she'd survive Nohrian society. If it was true that the hazards of social etiquette and the peculiarities of the high houses would spell her end, then she wondered if the oppression of expectations alone would do it.

It was almost pathetic how many remedial lessons these teachers deemed she required. If her younger-self had heeded the lessons of the Nohrian etiquette tutor rather than accomplishing the bare minimum to appease her, then Hinoka might not be caged as she was now. Thinking on how Princess Camilla had arrived in Shirazaki knowing the names of all the feudal lords and even little things like how to handle chop sticks, the Hoshidonese princess knew her in-laws were being generously patient with her own lack of knowledge concerning their kingdom.

It wasn’t as if Hinoka hadn’t endured lessons in etiquette before. In Hoshido there were specifically calculated ways to show deference, the shallowness or deepness of a bow differed depending upon whom you were conferring it to. One had to take into account finger-widths when bowing and whether an unspoken insult was being delivered when being bowed to. Although as royalty she was rarely required to bow back.

Yet in Nohr it wasn't just measuring if a bow was half of a finger-width too shallow or too deep, but also certain ways to arrange seating during certain occasions, very precise ways of holding your silverware and pulling them out of your mouth. The dance lessons had decorum interwoven, ways to insult a prospective partner if you should fight their lead when you hadn’t done the asking or the rudeness in refusal to accept an offer to take to the floor if otherwise unoccupied. They also seemed to aim for her to memorize not only the high houses of Nohr but their lineages and history too. The teachers were even attempting to mold the manner in which she spoke— something Hinoka had spent a lifetime resisting at home, and to have to dodge carefully constructed exchanges again was more distressing than it should've been.

So she’d excused herself to the privy and abandoned Orochi to keep the teachers occupied. Hinoka should’ve felt guilty, but only felt relieved. Her father’s retainer loved keeping others off balance and appeared to be endlessly entertained by how she could scandalize the Nohrians next.

“You seem to be headed the wrong way, Princess Hinoka.” Asama piped up as they moved in the opposite direction of her classroom.

“This is the right way because I’m not going back there.” Despite that every fiber of her being screamed to end the declaration with _ever_ , she amended, “Today.”

“…where are we going?” Setsuna asked, trailing slowly but steadily after.

The Hoshidonese princess floundered for a decent excuse, but quickly gave up and honestly answered, “Anywhere but there. I just, need a break.”

Sitting in one room for most of the day had her frustrated, restless, and she didn’t want to stop walking. So Hinoka headed down towards the green court, with hopes that standing under the open sky might help her nerves.

However, before she could even leave the inner halls, something else caught her eye.

Joker stood with a large number of the castle staff, his back towards her. They spoke quietly enough that even as she steadily approached she couldn’t make out what was being discussed. She and her retainers didn’t go unnoticed for long, as one of the maids bowed— which caused the rest of the group to turn towards them and do the same.

“Princess Hinoka,” the butler greeted. He glanced away momentarily to dismiss the staff who left with another series of quick bows.

“You didn’t have to do that. I was simply curious why everyone was here?” It was unusual for the servants to be gathered and discussing matters in a more public area of the castle. It convinced the Hoshidonese princess that something unusual must going on.

The silver haired man apparently perceived this and said, "At this point of day staff members are scattered throughout the castle and it would be inconvenient to call a meeting in the servants’ quarters, but I had to deliver instructions. Events are coming up-"

"Can I contribute?" Hinoka had been the one in Shirazaki to collaborate with the temple and feudal ladies on festivals and other large gatherings. Although Nohrians had different norms, she was sure she could lend assistance rather than being a burden.

The butler visibly hesitated, his expression a politely smiling mask. Joker finally said, "I'm afraid authority of this realm belongs to Queen Ektrina. You would have to ask her yourself, Your Highness, if you wished to participate in the planning."

The Hoshidonese princess felt her back straighten and her skin prickle at the very idea of demanding such a thing from her mother-in-law. While the Queen had been affable at all times during the wedding celebrations, Hinoka had never been alone with Marx’s mother during any of those times. She hadn’t seen Queen Ektrina since and was more than fine with that.

After years of having run Shirazaki’s castle as the eldest woman of the royal family, not having any of those duties in Krackenstein Castle had Hinoka feeling more rudderless than liberated. No one came to her seeking decisions or advice, for this household belonged to Nohr’s queen and she was only the wife of the kingdom’s heir. The castle staff always greeted her with a bow and were willing to answer any questions she had— ever utterly respectful in their treatment. Yet other than Joker she didn’t really know the staff, despite beginning to recognize some faces.

“Can you at least tell us what this event will be?” Asama cut in.

Joker’s expression became annoyed as he answered her retainer, “No. If you were all at lessons as scheduled, perhaps you’d be learning of calendar events and could guess for yourself.”

Hinoka held back a sigh as Joker and Asama proceeded to glare at each other. Ever since the two men had met they’d butted heads, perhaps too much alike with their sharp tongues. As brazen as the Nohrian butler came off at times, the Hoshidonese priest was hardly better— still it hadn’t earned much more from her husband than a raised eyebrow. She was sure like her own strange relationship with her rude retainer, Marx had his own reasons for keeping the prickly servant close.

“…the Princess doesn’t want to attend lessons today.” Setsuna interrupted sedately, and Hinoka felt a blush creeping onto her face.

Joker practically snapped at her other retainer, “And why not!?”

“Because they’re boring…” the archer didn’t even blink at his raised tone.

Her answer however appeared to have rendered the butler speechless and Hinoka took advantage of the opportunity. She thanked Joker and bid him good day, then forced her stiff legs to lead them away from the seething servant. It meant she was also headed away from the green court, but never let it be said she didn’t know how to make a tactical retreat. With the relaxing promise of the walled garden gone, her mind began to wander as she walked.

Hinoka knew she was an oddity in Nohr. Not just the clothing she wore and the difference of her facial features, either. It was almost an ill placed feeling like a fish out of water.

While the training grounds were free to her use, she was not a formal member of Nohr’s army and had no comrades-in-arms as she’d had with the tenma warriors back home. Instead her husband’s butler had trapped her in endless remedial lessons, with only personal time enough for training and morning rides to keep her sane. Marx attended seemingly endless meetings and since that morning they’d ridden their tenma together she’d hardly seen him outside the private rooms. She wondered what it was that took up so much of her husband’s time, princely duties or something else?

In Nohr, Hinoka felt lost. Without any responsibilities, she didn’t much feel like a princess. And while her fighting skills had not diminished, there was no warm camaraderie to accompany the time she dedicated to training. At the moment she had no connection to the people who she would one day reign over as queen. Missing all of these almost felt like defining pieces of her were gone, left her presence in this kingdom hollow. She might’ve even doubted her role of wife, except Marx was keen to know her during the times they’d gotten to be alone together and was never dismissive when Hinoka sought him out.

Still, doubts of where she belonged sometimes crept into her mind in the too quiet moments she found herself nothing to do but think… as was happening now.

Hinoka sighed and attempted to set aside her spiraling thoughts. Glancing at her surroundings she found that she’d made her way into the upper ward, likely because her feet knew this route in the castle best. Although there was no way Hinoka would be able to stand hiding in Marx’s rooms for the rest of the day.

The gods seemed to have heard her unspoken prayers as Hinoka literally ran into the answer when she turned the corner. They both cried out at the unexpected impact, and the other person who was much smaller, was knocked back and off their feet. The covered basket they’d been carrying fell onto the floor and cut flowers spilled out upon the stone.

Setsuna gasped, while Asama chided. “Careful, Princess, few can match your strength.”

“My apologies!” Hinoka felt that embarrassed blush rushing back as she stooped down to help the cloaked person up. “Are you alright?”

The hood fell back and revealed the blonde head of Marx’s youngest sister. As their eyes met the Nohrian princess’ eyes snapped wide, stretched to the size of gold coins. Elise's eyes were almost completely round, Hinoka realized, when she had that wide eyed look— a perfect circle of white, dark, lighter purple, then the black of the pupil.

“Big sis Hinoka!” She nearly squeaked as Hinoka grabbed her by the hand and nearly lifted the blonde girl onto her feet. “I-I’m okay.”

Asama snickered. “Going on a stroll dressed like a peasant, Princess Elise?”

Her retainer was right— the stitching of the cloth and dull colors Princess Elise currently wore were of far lesser quality than her usual black and pink finery. The brown cloak too might look unassuming in the streets crowded with common folk, but looked terribly out of place within the castle. However, her sister-in-law did not look ashamed at the observation, her face morphed into an indignant pout.

“Plenty of people wear clothes like these, don’t look down on them!” The Nohrian princess rebutted, and Asama’s mocking grin actually faded somewhat.

A woman with pale hair, that Hinoka had never seen before, abruptly appeared from around the corner. She wore clothing similar to Nohr’s second princess, though her eyes looked to not them but the ground. “Lady Elise, your flower basket.”

“Oh no, the morning glories!” The blonde girl dropped to her knees and scooped the blossoms up in her hands, and after inspecting a few she dramatically proclaimed them undamaged. Without hesitation the woman followed her down, and between the both the basket was swiftly refilled with the white flowers.

Hinoka offered her hand and this time her sister-in-law took it. Once the young princess was on her feet, she grinned then gestured to the woman. “This is my retainer, Elfie! Elfie, this is Marx’s wife, Hinoka, and her retainers.”

With the flower basket in hand the pale haired woman smoothly rose to stand, and lifted her gaze— her eyes were just as green as Cyrus', maybe even lighter in color. Elfie bowed, without upending her burden, and gave a subdued smile. “Well met. I’ve heard a lot about you, Your Highness, from my husband.”

Hinoka blinked, but before she could ask Elise supplied, “Elfie’s married to my brother’s butler!”

Three startled gasps escaped the Hoshidans, some more strangled sounding than others. Joker not only wore gloves, but often gauntlets, so it was no surprise Hinoka had never spied a wedding ring— and yet she was having trouble wrapping her mind around the idea. Joker, married. Elfie looked like a perfectly normal woman too.

“You must have the patience of Hotoke.” Asama bluntly proclaimed, and Setsuna made a thoughtful hum of agreement.

Thankfully, Elfie didn’t take offense. If anything her smile grew as she said, “Joker’s a skilled chef and cooks for me every day.” Giving a dreamy little sigh at the end of her statement, as if it that had answered everything.

The Hoshidonese princess didn’t want to risk her retainers saying anything else on the topic, so asked her sister-in-law, “Where’d you get those flowers?”

“From our gardens! I picked them fresh today.” Elise sounded very proud of herself.

Hinoka remembered that Prince Leon cut blooms in the rosarium himself, so this might not have been suspicious if not for the clothing. She pressed, “What’re they for?”

The young princess deflated a bit at this question, but answered, “I’m going to go sell them. My nursemaid has been ill and has to stay at home, so I want to give her the extra coin. It’s why we’re dressed like this to go into the city, so the guard don’t notice.” Hinoka’s own eyes widened as the Nohrian princess admitted to her plans to sneak out without a proper escort. The blonde girl’s eyes shone as she asked, “Do you want to come with us, big sis Hinoka?”

Hinoka had only been out of the castle and into the Nohrian capital a handful of times in the weeks she’d lived here. She’d visited various guild-run shops patroned by the royal family and had occasionally accompanied Princess Elise to social gatherings in the salons of local noblewomen. Almost all those times had been ceremonial affairs with pomp and a large number of castle guard that prevented her from interacting one-on-one with the citizenry. And she’d never really been allowed to wander and explore the city, as once their objective had been met they were bustled back behind castle walls.

Although she had observed that Vindam was crowded, loud, and dirty compared to Shirazaki. Beggars loitered in the alcoves and eves of the streets as fully armed city guards walked the streets. Joker had made very clear that it wasn't safe to go out after dark, even if accompanied by her retainers— only a contingent of armed guards would placate him, so Hinoka had given in and stopped attempting to leave the castle after evening.

The Hoshidonese princess missed slowly walking through Shirazaki’s market, visiting with the vendors and discussing how their businesses were faring. At home she’d felt in touch with her people, but here in Vindam… It was like trying to hold a conversation through a glass windowpane. Hinoka nibbled on her lip and wondered if the youngest princess truly had discovered a way to get past this barrier.

Her sister-in-law smiled brightly. “Don’t worry, I go out like this all the time! I bring my retainers to be safe, so you can just bring yours too.” Hinoka looked over at the pale-haired woman and she didn’t appear troubled in any way by the plan.

Elise’s offer was an opportunity to get to know Nohr’s people and was too tempting to pass up. “Alright, Elise, let’s go into Vindam. Just us and our retainers.”

Her smile practically beamed as she hugged Hinoka and spilled out promises that the trip would be fun. Nohr’s second princess then began tugging at her, saying they’d all need to get properly dressed before they could leave.

Asama loudly cleared his throat. “I’ll stay behind. They’d notice if we were all gone and Orochi came looking, but so long as I’m here I can tell them different places to search.”

Hinoka had a hunch that the priest actually just didn’t want to have to dress like a Nohrian peasant, but relented because the reason he’d given had merit. The women left him behind and quickly changed into their disguises within Elise’s rooms. Marx’s youngest sister was thrilled to ‘play dress up’ with herself and Setsuna, but Hinoka had to admit she did a good job— without their Hoshidonese clothing they were no longer recognizable.

The Nohrian clothing was rough spun and drab blues, tight upon her torso, heavy in its skirts, and rather than a sash inconveniently required another set of hands to button up the back. Elfie showed Setsuna how to tie a large handkerchief about her head, while Elise handed Hinoka a straw hat. The hat was entirely ridiculous, so big as to mostly cover her ears with its wide floppy brim, but it effectively covered her hair— which she was convinced was what might give her identity away. A large-knit scarf looped loosely over the bottom of her face completed the disguise, although Hinoka felt somewhat naked going out without a naginata. But it seemed only guards and those of higher classes were permitted to openly carry weapons, so she’d have to make do with a knife tucked into the top of her boot.

Elise then announced they were going to meet someone named Harold. Instead of the hallways or the regular paths of the palace, the blonde girl snuck them through the servant’s halls. The Nohrian princess hadn't kept her head down and her eyes away but neither had she greeted or acknowledged the staff as their group passed them by. If the men and women they passed realized they were walking within arms' reach of royalty, they didn’t let on. One or two caught Hinoka’s eye, like the blonde maid she recognized, but they said nothing.

When the traffic thinned out, Hinoka sped up and leaned in close to ask the Nohrian princess, “Just where are we headed?”

Elise grinned. “We’re going to the market in the Underground District!”

Marx stood with one hip leaning against the edge of the rounded table. While he normally found such sloppy posture unacceptable, over a month's worth of extra meetings in this council room had taken its toll. Long preparations grated on Nohr's crown prince, having to review all the possible ways a plan could go wrong and devise alternatives. But these particular meetings were his own fault, if he had realized the assassination plot went beyond House Rutch last year and had continued the investigation it might've been solved before Hinoka's arrival...but regret aided no one.

With a measured breath Marx put such thoughts away, fixed his posture, and concentrated once more upon the meeting.

His father’s adviser had begun by reading summations of the spring reports from their vassals and tributary territories. While the previous fall harvest had suffered from hailstorms and rot, with the winter heavy in its snows, the steady precipitation proved beneficial this spring and if all went well they could have a bumper crop. The rest was more standard news and the adviser summarized further to speed up the reading…until he reached the last on the list.

The black haired sorcerer sounded downright vindicated as he recited, “We suspect the number of new lambs in Freezia’s flocks are off on the reports they submitted this spring. There’s also been a consistent discrepancy in the records for geode crystals.”

Hiding food and hoarding the cheapest components required for enchanting weaponry, boded ill. Such reports from the Ice Clan were nothing new. Suspicion of a brewing uprising had been raised a year ago, although nothing had happened as of yet. Freezia had already rebelled during Marx's lifetime, around the same time Marx had come of age he’d ridden alongside his father and helped subdue them— the memories of those battles were best not dwelt upon.

“What about their ice?” Garon asked, his first question since they’d gathered in the council room.

The inherent magic of the Elemental Clans was world famous. With the Ice Clan in particular wherever a large group of them gathered and lingered the weather would inevitably become colder, though only a handful of families could purposefully manifest and control the phenomena at will. A byproduct of this was a type of ice that melted far more slowly than that which naturally occurred. Nohr had come to rely upon that special ice for food preservation, losing it would prove disastrous.

“The cutting and shipment of Freezian ice is the only thing on par with past years and our current projection.” Iago’s tone was far less pleased with this reply, “Although the increased demand with more households using iceboxes means Nohr would benefit if this rate was higher.”

Garon grunted dismissively. “So long as we’ve enough to keep the seasonal stores from going bad, I care not.”

Marx spoke, more than a little relieved his father wouldn’t elevate expected tribute as it’d escalate tensions. “Freezia will be unable to hide such discrepancies during the yearly tour of our tributaries. In the meantime, an agent can be sent to check that these faults are not simply administrative corruption or bureaucratic overhead.”

Adviser Iago sent him an unimpressed look, but Garon nodded acceptance— the matter had been settled for the time being.

His younger brother cleared his throat, to gather their full attention. Leo had been tasked with monitoring the ongoing trade with the kingdom of Hoshido and had undoubtedly prepared a summation for this meeting. The topic of trade was a constant one, the warfare of business Garon sometimes jested. It’d been a main issue brought up by the heads of the high houses when the Hoshidonese royals had visited Vindam for the wedding. King Sumeragi had revealed that many of Hoshido's feudal lords hoped to limit and control foreign trade— they’d even gone so far as to propose forbidding interaction of Nohrian traders with the Hoshidonese people, but Prince Ryouma had assured them that those suggested measures had been struck down. Yet there were still problems.

However, rather than waiting for the second prince to read the report their father asked, "I'd heard there have been complaints?"

Leo wasn’t flustered, instead he nodded smoothly. "Merchants are unhappy that the trade with Hoshido is still not profitable. That in fact, it's been the opposite with importation high and exportation from our own kingdom low. Despite the royal family’s assurance that governmental tariffs would decrease, our traders are also unhappy with the limited Hoshidonese merchants with which they can work. They claim that these groups heavily regulate the market by setting prices, collecting duties, and levying numerous fees on foreign goods.

"There's also the trouble of limited interest in our exports. Nohrian textiles of cotton, linen, and wool haven't sold. Ore, metal ingots, and gemstones sell well, but many complaints have been lodged that Hoshidan merchants often try to pay less than the agreed upon price and propose undercuts, which combined with the cost of production and shipment, would make the entire endeavor a loss on our side. The steadiest buyers are those blacksmiths directly employed by the royal family, who are willing to haggle within market prices.”

Iago abruptly slammed a hand onto the table. "So you’re saying our coffers are being bled and at this rate will run dry if we can't establish equilibrium in trade goods. We should take counter measures!”

Leo shook his head. “There is no point in increasing our own tariffs, as few in Nohr can afford Hoshidan goods as it is. Right now the merchants we've sent to the Hoshido currently rely on the crown's subsidy. I wish I could say we might consult Amusian or Chevon traders, but they haven’t much of better luck with Hoshido than us.”

For a near century Hoshido had closed trade to the western half of the continent, and only with King Sumeragi’s ascension to the throne had the policy been abolished. Opening trade between them and Nohr had been one of the foundations for the treaty negotiated in Chevalier. It hadn’t been the windfall hoped for, as Hoshido had grown accustomed to isolation and self-sufficiency. During all that time the eastern kingdom’s trade with the neighboring nations of Izumo, the Wind Clan, the Fire Clan, and Notredea had remained ongoing, ensured volume hadn't suffered…and it seemed that plenty of Hoshidans were content with that status quo.

"What of our ally of Fuuma?" Garon asked.

Leo sighed before he replied. "Most Hoshidans consider them to be traitors, possibly even worse than foreigners in their estimation. Although it initially fluctuated with Hoshido opening its borders, our trade with Fuuma, Izumo, and Notredea remains steady. As it continues to be more affordable to import tea and other luxuries from them despite Hoshido offering goods in greater bulk quantities.”

Their father heaved a sigh of his own, then spoke. “Very well. My son, what is your recommendation?”

A hint of a smile flashed over Leo’s face, but it was gone just as fast. “No need to contact those three nations as there's little change regarding our terms and prices. We should inform our merchants that King Sumeragi has promised to have buildings prepared within Shirazaki for foreign diplomatic representation. Once that’s ready then the traders can lodge complaints directly with Hoshido’s officials. I will continue to research how me might overcome the other obstacles.”

Garon nodded his approval, and Marx noted how his brother had to suppress another smile at their father’s confidence in his opinions. A frown deepened the lines of Garon’s face, undoubted displeased that their talks with King Sumeragi and Prince Ryouma had not borne fruit thus far. Just as that thought passed through Marx’s mind, Nohr’s king turned his head to look at him.

He said, “Once Sumeragi’s daughter bears Nohr an heir, the terms of the alliance will be bound by blood. Our stance for bargaining will increase, but until then we must rely upon words. Should we doubt your efforts towards this goal, my son?”

Marx suppressed his own frown as he answered. “No, father. Princess Hinoka and I are… regular in our relations.”

Iago made a concerned noise; when he spoke his tone might’ve been sympathetic if Marx hadn’t known the man better. "That wife of yours is hardly taller than a child and is narrow as a reed. Do you not fear that you'd get her with a babe big enough to break her in half?"

The sorcerer wasn't the first to so vulgarly speculate. Already the court gossips had commented upon the color of Hinoka's eyes and skin, the wild licks of her hair, the slender breadth of her hips— itemizing his wife like a curiosity. Still none of the courtiers had had the gall to do so right before the crown prince, nor did they dare imply difficulty in childbearing with Queen Ektrina’s own history. Marx counted in his head, refused to clench his hands or grind his teeth, refused to give his father's sniveling adviser the satisfaction of any reaction. Despite that he was tempted to use the man in a demonstration of how a human could be literally broken in half.

"Considering the height of Hoshido's Prince Ryouma and the princess' rumored resemblance to the late Queen Ikona, your speculation is doubtful, Baron Cawdor." Leo said, his tone bored but words cutting.

Though he could not do much more beyond glancing, Marx mentally thanked his brother for keeping a cool head and trading insults with the sorcerer. The set of Garon's jaw was commentary enough in regards to the spoken observations and exchange.

Iago appeared unabashed as he called out to the scribes sitting by the doors and recording their conversation. “Administrative duties are done, go and deliver the decisions made. Guards, take posts on the exterior of the room.” When both the scribes and guard had vacated and closed the doors behind them, his father’s adviser asked, “Shall we review the plan one last time before deploying the troops, Your Majesty?”

His father leaned forward with interest, frown vanquished by an anticipatory grin. “The craven curs have hidden themselves well, it is time to remove the fangs they’ve shown.”

Despite considerable efforts they’d failed to identify those behind the assassination attempts, thus had come to the agreement that assassins daring to target the royal family could not be tolerated. They’d spent weeks since the wedding had ended planning on how to eliminate the threat from Vindam. Assassination contracts were taken on by criminal elements, and it was high time they cleaned out the gangs which plagued the city.

After contacting undercover agents and gathering intelligence they knew that two major gangs fought for dominance in the poorer regions of the capital. The Green Scales, which dealt mostly in smuggling and all types of thievery. The Red Horns, which were made up of the worst sorts: traffickers, flesh peddlers, slavers, killers. Both of these groups were involved with black markets, counterfeiting, racketeering, and could be contracted for unsavory services.

There’d been another major gang in Vindam up until a few years ago, the Blue Claws, which was a group specializing in killers-for-hire. But its leader had been killed by his own apprentice and the subordinates fought long enough for position that the group ultimately scattered. Reports from their agents suspected that the Red Horns were the ones to contract said apprentice, likely in hopes of destroying competition.

While they’d been unable to pin down the headquarters for either gang, with the spring rains having abated and the lower tunnels no longer flooding illegal markets will have sprung up like weeds. An agent of theirs assured that the leader of the Green Scales always loitered near markets in the gang’s territories around this time, so their target and method of attack had been decided.

Nohr’s King looked to Marx, inclining his head in a sign for him to speak on the plan of attack. He’d checked the day before that everything was in place, the royal troops armed and ready. All that was left now, was the battlefield and commanding it.

“Joker will have informed the castle staff of the planned movements, and the dungeons have been prepared for an influx of prisoners.” Marx pointed to the map of Vindam already spread across the table. “The troops have gathered here and are prepared to assault the criminal strongholds at the King’s word.”

Nohr’s capital city was built as rings within rings, not satisfied with one great wall to defend them. When Hinoka’s family and their retinue had arrived over a month ago for the wedding they'd passed through half a dozen guarded gates in order to reach Krackenstein Castle at its center. And now that she lived there Hinoka found that leaving the, for lack of a better term, pit to reach even the central most ring of the city was almost a journey in itself— with the climb up the stairs, across catwalks, and through checkpoints with the city guard. Even the streets with civilian pedestrians and horse drawn carriages were heavily patrolled by squads of armed city guard. It was so different than Shirazaki and had been part of the reason she felt so separated from the rest of the city and its occupants, almost caged within the castle.

Hinoka knew that back home some of the servants’ door were left unlocked, for convenience and perhaps to tempt spies. But it’d still been shocking, when Nohr’s second princess had led her and their retainers through a secret passage near her private apartments that bypassed the walls and their guards completely. As they’d left Krackenstein Castle behind them and snuck into the city unescorted, Hinoka had felt lighter than she had in weeks.

The featureless, maze-like passage had led to a sort of underground tunnel network beneath Vindam proper. They were narrower, colder, and dirtier than the cobblestone streets above, because of the sunken waterways which ran through them. It was also darker here. Although Hinoka had sometimes thought the overcast skies over Nohr dreary, she found this complete absence of skylight disturbing. Thankfully those orange lanterns lit by magic hung upon chains at regular intervals throughout the roof, so it was not pitch black.

“What are these tunnels for?” Hinoka asked, her voice had echoed off the stonework.

“I don’t know!” Elise admitted, though was no less cheerful. “But a lot of people live here, just like aboveground.” Her sister-in-law had then pointed in the direction of the market and practically began to skip, still carefree despite their dingy surroundings.

Although the tunnels seemed to be more empty than crowded their path lead them past the occasional group of lean-toos where reclined too thin occupants with ratty clothes, sunken cheeks, and downturned eyes. These vagrants barely spared their group a glance, perhaps because they all wore common garb, but possibly because most of them appeared to be listless or too unwell to spare the energy.

After they’d left the last grouping of lean-toos behind, Hinoka spoke her thoughts aloud. “Do we know who those people are?”

Although she hadn’t been expecting an answer, Elise’s other retainer— a man named Harold, tall, blond, with a prominent chin -gave one. “Many in Nohr travel to the capital hoping for a better life!” His boisterous tone grew subdued, “Only to find that they cannot afford the housing or secure employment.”

When Harold went quiet, Elfie spoke up. “Most of these immigrants are preyed upon by local criminal gangs. But if any prove too costly to keep, such as bad health, they’re swindled of their valuables and resort to becoming beggars.”

But before pale haired woman could say anything else Princess Elise protested, “We’re here to have fun! That’s too sad, Elfie.” The Nohrian retainers didn’t comment further, and Hinoka didn’t try to strike up further conversation.

As they’d made their way through the underbelly of the city Hinoka thought on what she’d seen. She had no doubt there were many other unfortunates in Vindam, and worse things, though her teachers in the castle never spoke of them. Hinoka wanted to know more of Nohr. More than the masks of court, and polished displays. She wanted to know its hidden and ugly sides. People lived in these places, and without subjects there would be no rulers. It was her birthright to protect even the most misfortunate, and this trip with Elise had proven Vindam had more than its share of needy. Rather than being completely unsettled, the Hoshidonese princess felt heartened with purpose to try and help these people.

Yet was wasn’t able to think too deeply on how to solve the problem. Soon enough they’d arrived at the Underground District’s market. It was a complete mess makeshift stalls and cloth tents, masses and masses of them— piecemeal boards and stained, faded fabric hid the stone walls of the tunnel and left only the tunnel’s round roof exposed. From the smell, it was likely that the illuminating and warming fires which burned in bins were fueled by trash. That combined with stench of unwashed bodies, soot, and damp rot made the air in the Nohrian underground almost unbearable. Hinoka was thankful the smell didn't permeate all the way to Krackenstein Castle.

Yet the underground market also had an energy and approachability that reminded Hinoka more of Shirazaki than any other part of Vindam she’d seen.

“This is the market, and we’re going to sell flowers!” The Nohrian princess took the basket from Elfie, and look quite accustomed to holding it. “We can’t ask for too much or no one will buy them and they’ll go to waste.”

“If the flowers are priced low, will the profits be enough to help your nursemaid?” Hinoka asked.

Her sister-in-law’s twin tails bobbed as she nodded. “Kashta’s house is in this district, so even copper coins can go a long way.” Elise beamed, “Our retainers will stand off a ways, to keep an eye on things. Big sis Hinoka, want to help me?”

“Yes, I do,” the Hoshidonese princess smiled as she agreed. And Nohr’s second princess explained what they’d do before pushing into the center of the milling marketplace.

Elise called out to any who passed by, "Hey there! You need a flower? Only costs one copper coin!" Most ignored her, but others looked at the flowers and paused to chat with the blonde girl even if they didn't buy anything.

Hinoka held the coin purse the Nohrian princess had handed to her for safekeeping and soon enough it grew heavy with coins, though they were all copper. She was impressed by how her sister-in-law fit right in to this bustling market and didn't seem the least bit bothered over not being recognized as royal. Although she suspected Elise’s clean countenance and lustrous, long hair likely gave away her life of ease, regardless of the disguise.

The customers and passersby took time to speak with Hinonka as well. She was able to talk to many of inconsequential things, like jests that another royal wedding should be held so the King could feed them for another week, but also important things, like how most pantries were becoming bare since the winter stores had been consumed and spring crops were only just starting to grow. Though this place smelled rank and jostling was inevitable with the size of the crowds, she had to admit, it was fun not having to stand on lofty circumstance and acting like one of the common born.

A sudden commotion drew the Hoshidonese princess’ attention toward the waterway— and she nearly swallowed her tongue at the sight of Setsuna near the edge— the archer freewheeled her arms in an attempt to regain her balance, a surprised expression on her face. Suddenly Harold was there, he grabbed her retainer by her borrowed dress and pulled her back onto solid footing. However, he had over compensated, and tipped back himself— right into stacked cages of chickens.

The flimsy wood was no match for his large, muscular body and the result was a cloud of dust, pile of debris, and chickens running wild. The distressed vendor was torn between yelling at the fallen man and trying to recapture the birds. Elfie already chased a few, and so did Setsuna— who happened to cross the Nohrian retainer’s path and ran right into the other woman. Beside her Elise gasped, and Hinoka pressed her lips together until she was sure she wouldn't laugh aloud.

“I’ll help!” Her sister-in-law dramatically proclaimed and began to charge after a nearby brown and white hen.

Before Hinoka could move similarly— an abrupt tug caused the coin purse to slip right out of her fingers. She turned her head and spied a thin child in threadbare clothing running away with it in his small hand. She shouted for him to stop, but the boy didn’t even look back, so she sprinted out of the market and after the pickpocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sakoku was the foreign relations policy of historical Japan under which no foreigner could enter nor could any Japanese leave the country on penalty of death, though specific exceptions were made in both cases. Although in terms of game-world canon I have no idea why refugees from Kohga would wander all the way to Nohr when Hoshido’s right there- unless they simply weren’t allowed in (but even then what about Izumo?).
> 
> We’ll learn more about the Hoshido trade situation and why it is the way it is next chapter. But I got a lot of ideas from the Cohong, (aka kehang or gonghang) a guild of Chinese merchants or hongs who operated the import-export monopoly in Canton (now Guangzhou) during the Qing dynasty.


	8. Tangled Web We Weave - part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some possibly triggering content is in this chapter. If that concerns you, please read this [page](https://damoselceles.dreamwidth.org/4727.html) where the warning is detailed. Know that the trigger listing also acts as mild spoilers for this chapter.
> 
> Originally posted 1/5/2017, revised 5/9/2016.

As Hinoka ran in pursuit of the child murky pools splashed against her borrowed boots, possibly ruining the leather. Although the dirty water didn't soak through but she could feel the chill against her toes. But the discomfort was far from her mind as she concentrating on getting back Elise’s earnings for the day, though the boy was fast on his feet she steadily closed the distance between them.

Before she was in arm’s reach, a bystander grabbed the pickpocket by the scruff of his neck and lifted the boy clear off his feet! The child kicked wildly while loudly protesting, but the man holding him was quite tall with equally long arms which held him far enough away that nothing connected. Hinoka slowed as she approached them, wary of this turn of events and took a good look at the man.

This stranger reminded Hinoka of a kunia, all narrow angles and quick movement, thin but not at all fragile. His height wasn’t all that was noticeable. There was also his white and black hair in unruly upturned spikes, his green and grey clothes seemed to be made of better material than she’d seen most market-goers wear. The man didn’t glance at her, or say anything to his protesting captive, even when she stopped to stand nearby, very conscious of how the run had cause the knife to slip farther down into her boot.

“Hey,” she was pleased that the run hadn’t left her winded. “Let that boy go.”

The stranger shot Hinoka an unreadable look. It might've been one of suspicion, or curiosity, or bafflement. It was too vague, too subtle, to identify.

Such difficulty to read struck Hinoka as inherently wrong for one of the common folk. If anything it reminded her of a shinobi's inscrutable expressions. And now that she was thinking on it... despite the clothing, this man's facial features reminded the Hoshidonese princess of her countrymen more than the sharp angles and roundness common to Nohrians.

The look vanished as he said, “You really want me to let this scamp get away? You’d seemed determined to catch him for whatever reason.” The boy had grown still and quiet when the stranger had spoken.

“I just need that purse back, that’s all.” Hinoka pointed to the pickpocket’s hand which gripped the item in question.

The stranger deftly plucked the coin purse from the small hand and gave her another unreadable look. “You mean you don’t want to haul him off to the city guard to face justice for his thieving ways?”

“He’s a child!” Hinoka’s hands fisted at the knowledge that the punishment in Nohr for such a crime was the loss of a finger, while repeat offenders lost a hand.

He shrugged, still dangling the pickpocket. “Doesn’t change the fact that a crime’s a crime.”

“And this boy is likely doing this at the bidding of a pimp. There’s little point in turning a pickpocket over if I can’t also provide the one who caused this behavior in the first place.” The stranger’s face blanked with surprise, but Hinoka wasn’t some sheltered fool. On their own devices a starving child would steal food, not money.

Thankfully she’d said something right and the man finally set the child back onto his feet, and sent him running with a pat on the back. Her body tensed as the stranger approached her. With trepidation Hinoka tried to estimate how far she’d run from Elise and their retainers while chasing the pickpocket, and found herself unsure in this unfamiliar place. As the man stopped to stand near her, Hinoka fought the urge to retrieve the knife from her boot.

Yet the stranger didn't move to loom over her as he stretched out the open palm where the coin purse laid. Neither of them said anything, but when she slowly moved to retrieved it his hand abruptly closed and then dangled her coin purse teasingly out of her reach.

“No thanks?” His voice was smug, and she knew frustration was clear on what was visible of her face.

“Thank you,” Hinoka repeated not bothering to hide her glare, but he didn’t make to lower his arm. “What now?”

“I think you mean to say _arigatō_.” His perfect pronunciation made her blood run cold. She’d been right, he was no Nohrian commoner.

Hinoka spun on one foot, lashed out with the other, and hit the stranger’s lower leg at a tendon. The tall man barked a vulgarity at her, hopping back. She’d caught him by surprise and caused him to drop the coin purse— which she caught. But just as quickly his hand snapped out and knocked off her hat as he yanked down the loose scarf hiding her face.

" _Ikona Joou,_ " the stranger spoke old Hoshidan in a bare half-whisper, his eyes widened then turned reverentially to the floor.

Hinoka felt her heart really start to pound— she'd always been told she had her mother's face. Very few who hadn’t grown up within or beside Hoshido knew the old language, it simply wasn’t used outside of specialized scholarship and perhaps ciphered messages. She very much doubted the stranger before her was a descendant of the east born in the west. Although her training demanded she get away from this unknown and get to safety, she had to know. “Who’re you?”

The stranger answered without hesitation in the same half-whisper, “Ashura of Kohga,”

Hinoka’s mind spun. Kohga, a territory that’d bordered and served Hoshido for centuries, which had been decimated by Fuuma mere decades ago. There’d been refugees at the time, but they’d all been turned away from Hoshido because of the sakoku policy that’d still been in effect. What was a Kohgan doing in Vindam? If she wanted answers, the Hoshidonese princess decided she’d have to give some herself.

“I’m not,” Hinoka found her nerves rattled enough she had to take a breath and start again. “I’m not Ikona.”

The man’s lowered eyes flashed up to her face instantly. “But I’ve seen you!” He hushed himself after the outburst, “I know your face. I’ve beheld the Queen with my own two eyes.”

“That must’ve happened a long time ago.” Hinoka gave the Kohgan a hard stare, and he eventually nodded. “I’m Ikona’s first daughter, Hinoka”

“…you’re the princess from Hoshido who wed the Nohrian king’s heir.” Ashura’s voice no longer sounded awed, and Hinoka felt much more comfortable— although his gaze became sharper, more alarming.

Before he could speak again she demanded, “Do you mean to say you had no idea who I was? That this all wasn’t simply a ploy to draw me here?”

“The pickpocket I paid to bring you to me, but…” He grimaced. “I was simply given the target in the underground market of a small woman with bright red hair. I swear upon my honor that I had no idea the contract was targeting a royal from Hoshido.”

A wry thought of thieves and honor crossed her mind, but the Kohgan’s earlier reaction had been peculiar enough that she believed he truly hadn’t known her identity. What Hinoka didn’t trust were his motives— taken a contract? If her suspicions were true, this stranger was a very real danger. Shinobi could slice a person's throat and come out of it clean of both bloodstains and guilt.

Before she could even contemplate how to escape from the situation, the sound of many footsteps grew steadily louder until they echoed through the intersection and more than two dozen people emerged from one of the tunnels. Ashura neatly stepped in front of Hinoka, nearly blocking her sight entirely with his larger frame. But she could still see his face and he looked at these new strangers as though they were scorpions, tails curled and pincers ready to strike.

A hoarse voice demanded, likely from one of the newcomers. “Out of the way, Scalely. We’re only getting paid to cut up that wench. So slink back under a rock and we’ll forget you were ever here.”

“I thought Reds knew better than to come into our territory!” Ashura yelled. “If Ganz is soft enough in the head to think I’d allow hits to occur here, it might be time I go up there and break his fat head wide open!”

As the men shouted at each other and continued to exchange insults, Hinoka discretely stepped back. She glanced around and realized that this intersection of tunnels was lined by individuals wearing some green article of clothing who were drawing weapons— she was surrounded. But all their attention appeared to be on the newcomers in red, so at least it meant Ashura wasn’t vastly outnumbered.

“Kill them all!” A hoarse command cut through the air.

In the blink of an eye the Kohgan had hooked an arm about her and moved them both out of the way— throwing knives landed where they’d just been standing. The group of newcomers split. The majority fanning out to block the outliers, while the rest chased after them. Hinoka barely kept her footing as she was shoved farther away. An attacker's lunge came fast but Ashura twisted and rolled onto his shoulder, across the ground, and spun up into a crouch with a bow and arrow suddenly gripped in his hands.

She wasn’t able to watch any further as one ran past the fight and straight at her.

Hinoka stood her ground and moved the scarf from her neck to her hands before he was upon her. She used its fabric to catch the dagger’s blade, it tore at the tip, but she was able to successfully ensnare the weapon and his hand by twisting up the cloth. This momentarily trapped them close enough together that when he snarled at her, she could smell stale alcohol and decay on his breath. The man wasn’t big, but he had enough height on her that his arms had more reach. With his free hand he grabbed her by the hair. The strands caught on the articulations in his gauntlet and were tugged, torn out.

Hinoka ignored it, looked into his eyes until she saw the shift happen, the moment when he decided to lean into her, eyes narrowed, and she was ready for it. The scarf frayed apart from the brute force of his push and she let it fall from her hands. Hinoka curved away from the path of the blade as he made to stab into her lower gut, her arm slid down along his and ensured he couldn’t switch directions to try again. He tried to steer her back with the hand tangled in her hair, but Hinoka was already moving. Her hands caught the stabbing arm, one at his wrist and one at the inside of his elbow— she forced it to fold as she lunged toward him. She watched closely enough that she saw the realization dawn and felt him let go, but it was too late for him to intercept.

She buried the blade in his throat, shoving it with her own hands when his grip on the hilt loosened— until she felt it jar against bone. Then Hinoka stepped out from the dying man’s arms, slipped behind him, and stomped the back of his knees and kicked his back to lay him out on the ground. One enemy down.

A quick glance showed that everyone in the intersection was battling— bodies dressed in red and green alike, bled out on the tunnel’s stone floor. The amount laying Ashura around were well-feathered part her noted as impressive. The rest of her was on edge and heard a weapon being unsheathed before she caught the movement in the corner of her eye.

Hinoka spun on the balls of her feet, ducked to avoid taking a dagger to the neck. While bent, she retrieved the knife from her boot, and stabbed up as she stood— burying it in her attacker’s joint at the arm and shoulder. He yelled in pain, but Hinoka inwardly cursed as she realized she’d made a mistake. That move she’d practiced to disable right-handed combatants, but this man held the dagger in his other hand— left dominant just like her.

The man in red seized the opening and struck, she barely lifted her arm in time to deflect the blow. Yet the blood on her hands made them slippery, enough so that the strike she’d tried to divert caught her on the palm instead. Hinoka hissed through her teeth as she felt her skin split open against the metal edge. Regardless she brought the heel of her boot down hard onto the arc of her attacker’s foot, which had him crying out and doubling forward— right into the reach of the knife she’d pulled free. Its small blade was sharp enough to pierce fabric and flesh alike, she pushed with enough force to slice open his neck.

But just as that enemy fell, another launched himself at her. Hinoka used the flat of the knife’s blade to deflect the edge of the dagger, but made sure not to catch it straight on— lest her wrists give out from having to absorb the impact. But she hadn’t moved fast enough in her sidestep, and was knocked to the ground. She managed to avoid cracking her skull on against the floor, but still found breath knocked from her. The attacker had followed her down and had settled his weight on her lower half.

“Such a waste of a pretty woman.” The man in red sneered down at her, hands trying to pin her own against the stone.

Without thinking, Hinoka spat in his face. Then planted her feet and unseated him by shifting her hips, unbalancing the attacker. Using the momentum, she turned her shoulders and rolled their bodies. He was distracted enough by the change that she broke his hold on her wrist and buried the knife as far as it would go into his temple. The man stopped moving when its hilt lodged against the skull and she had no particular desire to retrieve it, as the sounds of combat had died down around her.

“ _Hime!_ ” The old Hoshidan word had her looking over her shoulder. Ashura ran over to her, lowering his bow though his quiver appeared to be empty. “ _Hime_ , are you-”

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” she shouted, untangled herself from the corpse and scrabbled onto her feet. Hinoka waved him off, not wanting anyone close while rush of battle buzzed through her and threats still lingered.

“Boss!” A youth, with a green bandana about her head who was gripping a staff, skidded to a stop before them. “Boss, we need to get out of here! I just heard that royal troops have stormed-”

A sudden bolt of light flashed and stuck into the young woman’s eye. Hinoka swallowed a scream as she fell dead at her feet.

“Princess, you shouldn’t be here.” A vaguely familiar voice called out of the dark.

She almost didn’t hear him over the pounding of her own heart. “Who’s there? Show yourself!”

With a swish of fabric, a new light flooded over the tunnels. Leo's retainer held a gilded bow emblazoned with an emblem of the sun and moon together, sparks of light fell from its shining limbs. When he knocked a crescent moon headed arrow and drew back the string, it too glowed.

It took her a moment, but then she finally remembered the dark-skinned man’s name. “Zero! What’re you doing here?”

“I was ordered to bring the leader of the Green Scales in alive.” There was no teasing lilt to Zero’s voice, and his single eye was fixed upon Ashura rather than her. “Though that order might change after it’s known that he attempted to kidnap you.”

Hinako threw a glance at Ashura, but his gaze stayed on the Nohrian retainer while his white-knuckled hands gripped his bow— undoubtedly wishing for more arrows. He’d admitted earlier to targeting her for a ‘contract’, yet at the same time he’d just defended her from men who’d been sent to take her life. And he was a Kohgan, one who knew her mother’s face. Weighing the factors together, Hinoka knew he’d be much more useful alive than dead.

So she told Leo’s retainer as much, “No, Zero.”

“No?” A smirk edged onto his face. “You want this kidnapping to remain a secret?”

“I want it to be known this man saved my life.” Hinoka gestured to the bodies littering the tunnel floor. “All the dead men here wearing red, they tried to kill me. They might’ve succeeded if Ashura hadn’t been here.” And the other men in green. But the survivors appeared to have scattered, as only the three of them still stood alive in the intersection.

“You shouldn’t be out of the castle, let alone here.” Zero hadn’t relaxed his arms or changed his aim towards the Kohgan, but neither had he let the arrow fly. She didn’t dare break the tense pause, thankfully he spoke, “You, Green Scale, will you come willingly or do you need some persuasion?”

Ashura grimaced, glanced down at the arrows sticking out of the fallen bodies, but then looked to her— his gaze searching. Hinoka tried to tell him without words, that’d she’d do all she could for him, that she doubted the Nohrian would be merciful if he resisted. Perhaps her silence pleas reached him, because the Kohgan sighed.

“I’ll go.” He said before letting his bow clatter to the ground.

Finally, Zero allowed the bowstring to go lax and turned his eye to the Hoshidonese princess. Quickly placing the strange arrow into its quiver, he then reached behind his back and threw an object at her. Hinoka caught the coil of rope out of reflex.

And then the arrow was back out. The dark-skinned man tapped it against his shoulder as he asked, “How well can you tie a knot?”

“Well enough!” She barked back, irritated that Leo’s retainer had her doing his dirty work.

Although as Hinoka went to Ashura and he held out his hands up helpfully, she couldn’t fault Zero for gambling her life rather than his own— after all she’d been the one to defend her potential kidnapper. Dealing with tack for years meant she knew how to tie a knot that’d keep its shape while not being over-tight, since you didn’t want to harm your tenma or have things coming undone. Yet she double-looped and she didn’t give the Kohgan any extra slack— as the Hoshidonese princess was convinced that ‘losing limbs’ was considered an option by Nohr in taking ‘live prisoners’ so long as it didn’t kill the person outright. Once finished, she held the remaining length of rope and stepped away so that Zero could view her work.

Leo’s retainer didn’t get any closer, but made a show of looking as he cocked his head one way then the other. Finally, he said with a smile, “It’ll do. Maybe I should tie you up too. After all, Princess, sneaking out is very naughty.”

She leveled the full force of her glare. “Just try touching the Crown Prince’s wife in such a disrespectful manner!”

“…true. Prince Marx should do the honors himself when he punishes you.” Hinoka’s stomach flipped, but the Nohrian retainer gestured for her to go before him through one of the off shooting tunnels. “Give our prisoner a tug, Princess Hinoka. Only teases keep people waiting.”

Begrudgingly she did as he said, Ashura keeping in step rather than fighting her lead with the rope. She squashed any thankfulness for a guide deep inside herself. As they marched at a brisk pace through the tunnels, Hinoka found the cut on her hand smarted like there was something hot inside her skin. But she gritted her teeth and bore it, unwilling to complain as the silence was only broken when Zero called out the next turn. Soon enough the underground market came back in sight— but it was not as she’d left it.

The stalls and tents were overturned and collapsed, the crowds of city folk had been replaced by armed guard in black Nohrian armor. The commoners that did remain cowered together, more often than not shackled and chained while surrounded by guards. There were some things were smashed or trampled on the ground, likely during a panic or possibly fight that had broken out.

It took Hinoka a moment of searching, but then she spied Setsuna’s familiar head of dark blue hair. She was standing in a line with Elfie and Harold, all three of them looked crestfallen. Beyond them were Nohr’s second princess and crown prince.

“No, it isn’t fair!” The blonde girl shouted up at her brother, who sat tall in the saddle of his warhorse.

“This isn’t your playground, Elise.” Marx stated, not harsh but still audibly annoyed. “We permitted this black market for years, and now we have every right to tear it down.”

“Nooooooooooo!” She wailed as tears rolled down her full cheeks. “Everyone’s nice here, stop being so mean!”

Sir Cyrus knelt beside the princess, gauntlet encased hands hovering but not touching, a strained smile on his face. “Now, Princess Elise, this isn’t about being nice or mean-”

“Oh, you butt out of it!” Elise abruptly snapped from sobbing to looking ready to bite.

Hinoka nearly jumped out of her skin when long fingers plucked the rope from her grip. Zero met her gaze with a smirk and nodded his head towards the blond siblings. He didn’t say anything but didn’t need to. With one last look over her shoulder at the Kohgan, she promised, “I won’t forget, Ashura. I’ll repay you.”

Then she walked over to Nohr’s royalty. Her heart skipped when Marx looked to her, and immediately dismounted with wide eyes. He met her half-way, gauntleted hands catching her own carefully.

“Princess Hinoka, you’re covered in blood.” He sounded more alarmed than he looked.

“I got into a fight. Most of it isn’t mine.” She tried to reassure him, but couldn’t hide a wince when one of his metal-clad fingers brushed too close to her wounded palm. “Prince Marx, why’re you here?”

At that his dark eyes snapped from her bloody hands to her face, his brow furrowing. “I could ask you the same thing, Lady Wife.”

Hinoka nearly choked on air at Marx ’s use of the archaic title. Was he trying to wield authority over her? Make her feel worse? A simple show of displeasure? Whatever it was, she wouldn’t be cowed.

There was stubbornness in his stance, clearly used to getting his way. But so was she, Hinoka raised her chin in challenge. “I asked first, Lord Husband.”

Marx’s eyes narrowed and his mouth curved down into a frown. But before more could be said, two other black horses clattered into the ruined market. One rider was that unpleasant man, Adviser Iago, and the other rider was the King of Nohr.

“Leo has the southern half of the Underground District secured, what’s taking-” King Garon trailed off as he looked down at both the second princess and herself. Hinoka heard Marx’s breath hitch, and her own became trapped in her throat. The Nohrian king’s expression grew dark and thunderous. “What is going on here?”

Elise squeaked, and began visibly shivering— an expression of pure fright covering her normally cheerful face. Somehow Hinoka found the breath to shout, “It was me!” She nearly lost it again with her father-in-law fixed her with a deadly look. “I asked Elise to take me to the Underground Market. I suggested we sneak out.”

She might’ve heard a protest from Elise become muffled. Marx’s grip on her hands had grown tight enough for the clawed tips of his gauntlets to break her skin. But Hinoka found herself unable to tear her gaze away from the king’s— as if it were the same as meeting a predator’s eye and breaking the contact would provoke its ire.

“How did you manage this?” Her father-in-law rumbled.

“Through the secret passage in the castle that connect to these tunnels.” Hinoka didn’t dare hesitate in her answer.

Her heart was drumming against her ribcage, almost painfully so. She’d grown up hearing the rumors in Hoshido’s court— that by his sword were a far flung cold lands were conquered, that Garon killed his own parents to claim the throne and then his brothers to keep it, that he’d pitted not only his wives but his children against one another for amusement. There would be exaggeration and fabrication… but right now in the ruined market with that black look, it felt like all of that ruthlessness was true.

“Son, deal with your wife.” King Garon said, his tone implied that she should be handled like a misbehaving child. Then he looked away to the surrounding area. “Your retainers will stay and conclude securing this area. Iago, warp Princess Elise back to her room and make sure she stays there.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The black haired man replied as he swung out of the saddle. A magic circle appeared, there was a flash of light, and when Hinoka looked the retainers stood alone. The sorcerer and Elise were gone.

Hinoka gave a shaky exhale— then suddenly Marx’s hands were at her waist. He lifted her body weight like she's constructed from paper rather than flesh. Though Hoshidonese princess was not intimidated by the difference in their physical sizes, it was a bit unnerving how easily Marx could lift her off her feet and move her. Once she was seated across the saddle he hefted himself up behind her and his other hand curved at her waist. Without so much of a word, they left the market and then underground.

Marx rode back to Krackenstien Castle at a furious pace, the city passing by them in a blur. As they approached, Hinoka was struck by the sight of the growing shape— a sharply angled mass of blacks, with many lofty spikes of carved stone and mortar. Everything looked so…heavy, like it'd all bear down on her, ready to crush anything beneath it into dust. As the horse shifted from a gallop to a lope then a walk in the front courtyard, Hinoka had to swallow down the churning of her stomach.

Just as quickly as her husband had lifted her up, he dismounted and brought her down out of the saddle. In the corner of her eye she noted some stablehands lead the horse off, but Marx remained where he was with his metal-clad hands almost encircling her waist. Finally, one of them moved up under her chin, forced her to tip it up and meet his gaze.

Marx’s expression was pinched, but there was no anger in his voice as he said, “Father knew you were lying.”

Hinoka almost didn’t believe her ears. “W-what?”

“This is not the first time my sister has snuck out of the castle into the city.” His hands left her body as he crossed his arms over the black breastplate and purple tabard. “And the way your breathing sped up— you’re not a good liar, Princess Hinoka.”

It should’ve been a compliment, but instead her husband’s words stung. Part of her knew it was irrational to take offense at the truth being spoken, but the other half was still ready for a fight. The hurt of her hand was throbbing now, in time with her heartbeat. “I thought you told me that you knew I can handle myself?”

His expression didn’t change in the slightest as he said, “Naturally you would overcome any rabble force, but that in itself is a problem. The princess from Hoshido and future queen of Nohr brawling in the streets with her supposed subjects… it’d be said that she enjoys physically beating those under her power.”

The flush that spread over Hinoka’s cheeks smarted as if from a blow. “How dare you! I would never-”

“Of course you don’t, but that doesn’t matter.” She heard leather and metal creak as his hand fisted. “They’d still say it, twist the event to reflect upon you in the worst sort of light. And if any of them successfully harmed you, they’d face imprisonment then execution for daring to strike a dragon blooded highborn.”

The Nohrian prince couldn’t have been talking about the men in red who’d attacked her, he didn’t know. He had to be talking about common born subjects, and that thought made her stomach sink. “I was in disguise. They’d have no way of knowing who I was. You can’t condemn them-”

He cut her off, “Ignorance is no excuse. It wouldn’t change anything. To forgive them that mistake would imply forgiveness for future such events and would only encourage anarchy and rebellion.”

Hinoka felt her own hands clench. “How can you judge like that? Without taking into account the surrounding circumstances? Do you call that justice?”

“No.” For a moment there was a pained look in Marx’s eyes, but between one blink and the next his gaze went steely. “…there is no justice. Order must be kept. It is our role to see the laws enforced.”

“You can’t…” The hurt of her wounded hand had begun to creep up her arm and was difficult to ignore. “Do you actually believe that?”

Marx uncrossed his arms. “Why wouldn’t I? I’ve seen how my people suffer. And for what? Being born here, in the harshest land where the earth itself resists our toiling and the sun hides its face. Tell me, Princess Hinoka, do the poorest in your country sell their children to slavers for a few paltry gold coins?”

She stared and said nothing. So he continued on, stepping closer to her whenever she unconsciously fell back. “In winter do rural villages in Hoshido leave the ill and infirm in the woods to die from exposure or be torn apart by wild animals, so that there’ll be fewer mouths to feed? Do not the lords of your court use the common folk as stepping stones for their own ambition? Can nobility not simply bribe their way out of official punishments from breaking the law, while the lower born must suffer doubly?”

The sudden feeling of a wall to her back forced her to face the full brunt of Prince Marx’s mounting anger. The calm in his voice had broken, “Tell me what in this life is _just!?_ ”

“Stop it!” Hinoka tried to shove him away bodily, but he didn’t budge and she found herself disturbed by the evidence that his strength dwarfed her own. “Stop treating me like the enemy!”

For a painfully long moment they stood too close and breathed hard, both deep in their tempers but knew better than to allow themselves to lash out and strike.

Despite the way her body was trembling with anger and heart pounding hard enough that she couldn’t think, Hinoka’s voice did not shake as she said, “Let me go.”

The Nohrian prince tilted his head in a sign of respect and stepped aside enough for her to push by. As she made to move past him, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her. Her feet stumbled over nothing and she had to grab onto the arms that had been extended to catch her, although the armor encasing them caused a slippery grip.

"Princess Hinoka, are you-"

“I’m fine!” She interjected, ignoring the concern in his tone and the fear that leaked into her own.

Part of her wanted to push him way, but the larger part clung to him in an effort to maintain her balance as her legs wobbled. Something was wrong and she didn’t know what, but the pressure in her temples echoed the pain thumping up her arm. Gauntleted hands pressed against her back as she slumped against the tabard over his breastplate.

Hinoka’s breathing grew labored and her head, too heavy for her neck, bowed. Suddenly her vision blurred and awareness grew fuzzy, her knees folded and her ankles gave way. Distantly she felt his arms draw around her as she collapsed, and he might’ve called her name before darkness blanketed her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple's fight fiiiiiiiiiight~
> 
> Hinted at those pesky assassins in Chapter 2 and that the royal family was planning to do something about it in Chapter 5. The upcoming arc is one way I think a medieval-esque king might handle rampant crime in his city.


	9. Low Hung The Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 5/9/2017.

Hinoka's mother held her hand, soft fingers stroked over the back of it. The white of her kimono glowed in the darkness like the full face of the moon, but didn't hide how the front of it was crossed right over left. She wanted to beg her to stay, not leave her alone in the dark— but found that she couldn't talk, couldn't move, was only aware and paralyzed. Ikona sang a lullaby that broke Hinoka's heart.

The vision of her dead mother vanished with the dream as Hinoka's eyelids fluttered and entire body jerked as she abruptly regained consciousness.

"She's awake. I must inform Prince Marx."

Hinoka heard Joker’s voice but barely caught sight of the silver-haired servant as he strode from the room when she forced her bleary eyes open. Although her mind was blurred from just waking, her heart had thumped at the Nohrian prince’s name. Hinoka's first thought was that it was pathetic, how malleable she was at the mention of her husband— if she’d had more energy the Hoshidonese princess might’ve blamed the reaction on how ill she felt, but currently it was too much effort to lie to herself.

She allowed her eyes to close as she took stock of her body. Her joints ached and her face felt feverishly flushed, but the pain of the wound on her hand was dull rather than throbbing, although her head pounded. She was lying in bed, one with a feather mattress, and from the familiar feel of the sheets it was likely Marx’s. Suddenly a small hand lifted her matted hair and drew something soft and coolly wet across her forehead.

Forcing her eyes open again, Hinoka blinked until her vision focused. She found that she was in Marx’s private chamber, and the flickering light of a many candles illuminated the usually dark room. Her eyes glanced to the left when the cool wet ran down and over her neck— it was Mozume holding a small cloth with a determined look on her face and balancing a bowl filled with water and a large chunk of ice.

With a damp handtowel Mozume wiped the sweat from her face, the motions practiced rather than unsure. Hinoka wondered how long she'd lain unconscious in bed, yet found her thoughts focusing upon the sweet relief of the cool cloth against her sticky heat of her skin. When the cloth ran over and wet her lips, she realized how parched her throat felt.

When Hinoka tried to speak, however, she realized that her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth– but only momentarily as she worked up enough spit to swallow. Her voice was hoarse when she managed to form a coherent word, “…w-water?”

“Here, Princess.” An arm slid behind her shoulders and aided her in sitting up against the pillows and headboard, then Asama held a cup to her lips. It was a weak tea, warm rather than hot, with an underlying bitterness that accompanied most Hoshidan medicines. It cleared her mouth and soothed her throat as she managed to swallow the entire thing in between coughs.

Her retainer drew back once she’d finished, set aside the cup, and retrieved a mortar and pedestal from somewhere beyond her vision. From the way he began to grind with it straightaway Asama was still in his healer mindset, rather than the flippant priest persona she dealt with regularly. Hinoka glanced away from him back to her handmaid, who sat watching and holding the full bowl but not reaching out with the cloth like before.

She had to clear her throat twice yet was able to ask, “What’s wrong Mozume?”

“They tried ta kill ya.” The freckled girl’s expression crumbled with the threat of tears. “Ya came ta this awful country an’ did everythin’ they said, an’ they still wanna kill ya.”

Asama’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle as he spoke, “Mozume’s been tending to Your Highness since you were brought to these rooms. She stayed throughout the night, refusing to leave your side and sleep.”

“Oh, Mozume…” Hinoka had to blink back tears of her own. “Please go rest.”

“B-but ya need watchin’ still!” Her handmaid immediately protested, likely not trusting to leave Hoshido’s princess alone with Nohrians.

It was Asama who laid his hand on the girl’s shoulder and firmly said, “Now that Princess Hinoka’s awake I can firmly say that the worst is over. The princess will not be left alone, so you should obey her order and go sleep. She’ll need your help once her strength is regained enough to get out of bed, and you wouldn’t want to be too tired then.”

Mozume took a hitching breath, but nodded. Rising from her seat with a bow, the freckled girl only looked back only once as she left the room. The way she’d held herself indicated exhaustion, and Hinoka immediately felt guilty for putting her handmaid through such a difficult time.

Still she glanced to her retainer and said, “Thank you, Asama.”

His hands that had been grinding a mortar and pedestal stopped to wave away her thanks. “Healing the sick is one of my many duties as a priest.” Asama’s tone was lecturing, “And make no mistake, Princess, you were _very ill_ when I was summoned to this room.”

Hinoka sighed and let her head sink farther into the too soft pillows. The drink had helped but the headache was still present and the flicker of the candle flames was beginning to bother her eyes. Ignoring the lethargy and aches of her body, she pulled her right arm out from under the bed covers. Her wounded hand was wrapped with bandages; the rusty stain of old blood could be faintly seen at the center over her palm. Her memory of the attack was clear; she’d deflected the stab but the blade’s grooved edge had caught on the flesh of her palm— despite drawing blood it wasn’t even that deep.

“How could a simple cut do all this?” She mused aloud.

“The dagger was poisoned, likely dipped in venom.” Asama’s answer had her eyes darting back onto him. “The Nohrians tried to use a staff to cure you but it broke before your fever did, likely saved your arm from amputation though. Thankfully no one was foolish enough to magically close the injury with traces of the poison still present, or my treatments would’ve been useless.”

Taking her hand between his, Asama set to cleaning her wound. When the dressings were removed Hinoka was able to examine the cut on her palm. The flesh around it was red and swollen, but not stretched tight, and there were no lines of infection. The injury was healing, if slowly.

As he tucked the soiled dressing away, Asama murmured, “For a moment I was convinced that death had come to take you, Princess.”

“…you sound troubled.” He’d spoken with a grave tone she’d heard rarely from him, seldom enough she could count the number with her fingers.

Asama’s brow furrowed even as his lips quirked up. “Everyone dies. But if you had, I was convinced that butler would’ve sacrificed my life in a dark ritual to try and bring you back for his master.”

Hinoka blew out a hard breath, not wanting to imagine how her husband and his retainers had reacted to all this. “That’s not funny, Asama.”

“I know. It’s not like a simple priest such as myself could fend off a villainous sneak attack.”

She flinched as Asama applied a thick salve to her palm, the medicinal smell of it pungent and contact against the cut stinging. But the sting soon turned to numbness and she barely even felt as the priest wrapped bandages about her hand. Hinoka thanked the gods that she had deflected the blade with her right rather than dominant hand.

“Asama I have a task for you to do with Setsuna.” The priest looked to her expectantly. “I want you two to find a thief named Ashura who was captured in the Underground District. You’re to tell the jailers that the Crown Prince’s wife extends her protection over him and that he’s to be treated well by her orders.” She hoped they hadn’t already started to torture, or even executed the man while she’d been out cold.

Asama scoffed, “You want to protect a criminal?”

“Ashura’s from Kohga, and in me recognized my mother’s face.” She paused to let the information sink in. “And he defended me when those assassins attacked. I owe him a debt.”

Asama clicked his tongue. “Only you would go and become indebted to a thief from a conquered country, Princess Hinoka.”

But before anything further could be said there was a knock at the doorway, and she looked over to find her husband standing upon the threshold. Asama stood, bowed, and with a quip about fetching more tea walked past the Nohrian prince and out of sight. Marx didn’t spare a glance for her retainer, instead kept his dark eyes locked upon her unwaveringly as he stood in the doorway.

The Hoshidonese princess stared at him in turn. He was still wearing his full armor, the black metal plate, purple tabard, and riding gear beneath. There was something to the crumpling of the dark fabric of his breeches which made her suspect that the Nohrian prince had never changed out of the ensemble since he’d brought her back to the castle and had worn it for whatever amount of time had passed. His normally kempt curls looked a tad frazzled, though not messy by any means, and his complexion looked even paler than usual.

Hinoka realized that he was waiting for an _invitation_ — into his own room. So she gave one, “C-come in.”

Though his gait was stiff, he moved quickly and dropped down onto the bed near to her. Her husband sat close enough for her to feel his body heat. He didn’t speak and Hinoka found herself at a loss for what to say, though the quiet quickly grew oppressive.

“I’ve come to apologize. You’re right, I was treating you wrongly and I shouldn’t have spoken in anger as I did.” Prince Marx spoke evenly, almost methodically as if reciting from a scroll.

His voice had smoothed over into blankness, and Hinoka recognized that tone as disguising one's inner turmoil with deliberate lack of feeling. She’d overhead Saizou reporting blankly many a time on topics the man’d likely have shouted over if not for official duty. During her weeks in Nohr she’d never heard Marx speak this way. His emotions must have been turbulent indeed for the Nohrian prince to have felt he must mask it with apathy.

Hinoka wasn’t sure what to make of this blankness combined with an apology. During their argument he’d come as close to yelling as she’d ever heard him, perhaps he didn’t want to repeat that, and yet this almost disturbed her more. “…do you expect me to forgive you?”

Marx closed his eyes, and maintained the blank tone. “No. I simply wanted you to know I regret what I did and am willing to make amends if you ever should desire it. If not…” His eyes opened and finally some feeling seeped into his voice, “If not I can make arrangements to have a separate room prepared for your use. It is unorthodox, but Joker assures me it could be done. You could even be moved to the Northern Citadel if you feel there’s not enough space between us in the castle.”

Hinoka’s eyes widened as pure shock jolted through her tired mind. “Y-you’d send me away?”

“What?” His reaction at least, didn’t contain that horrible blankness. “No, I… I’d remove my presence if it troubles you.” His dark eyes searched her face, "Before you passed out, you asked me to let you go. But the truth is, I cannot. If you do not want me, I swear I will not force myself upon you, Princess Hinoka."

"Prince Marx, I wasn't-" The misunderstanding was alarming in more than one way. It was like those times Takumi took small matters and over-thought them into all-encompassing dilemas... did Marx's mind go to such same places? If that was true, she’d have to be careful with the intent behind her words. "We were arguing and both angry. You'd backed me into a corner, and I just wanted out of it in that moment. I didn't mean anything else by it…and it’s understandable if you’re upset with me for sneaking out."

“Zero told me how he found you.” Her husband expression became terribly vulnerable as he spoke again, his voice quiet and trembling. “…assassins have been sent against the royal family. One attacked Camilla before she left for Hoshido and the other was propositioned on the day of your arrival— that’s the reason our wedding was hastened by three days. And now this… It’s not safe.”

It took Hinoka a moment to work up her voice through the shock. “Why didn’t you tell us any of this?”

When next he spoke he didn’t sound ashamed, but neither was he accusatory. “Our alliance with Hoshido is new and yet untested, Nohr cannot afford to appear weak.”

His words were uncomfortably close to what she’d been telling herself since arriving in Nohr— do not show weakness, do not show fear. She wanted to condemn him for hiding those facts from her, but how could she when Hinoka had taken the exact same attitude over her own insecurities? They both feared showing weakness— that the other would exploit and control. The irony made her headache worse.

A numb sort of exhaustion ached behind her eyes and had spread weariness in her limbs. Still Hinoka reached out with her uninjured hand and took his gauntlet-covered one in hers. "You are my husband and I, your wife. Talk to me, don't keep secrets, share what burdens you, and I... I shall do the same."

Her heart fell when Marx pulled his hand away, and she allowed her eyes to similarly fall. Then the telltale clicks of fasteners and buckles being undone, had her looking back— to catch the sight of his gauntlets set aside while he peeled off gloves. His pale hands gently cupped her face, felt big and merely warm against her feverish skin.

Her husband's mouth was a tense line, but he softly ran the bare pads of his thumbs across her cheekbones. "I swear I will."

Her heart ached at hearing Marx say those words to her again. She felt tears burn at the edges of her eyes and bit her lip hard to stave them off. Yet his thumbs gently coaxed her into softening her mouth. "We will talk later. You should rest now, Hinoka."

Hinoka swallowed her pride and gave a slow nod. Honestly, she didn’t have the energy to fight as he carefully rearranged her, fluffed the pillows before settling her head, tucked her back into bed, and smoothed the covers over her. Everything had left her feeling wrung out and a comforting promise of slumber lingered at the edges of her consciousness. After her eyes had drifted shut there was the sound of water droplets, then that damp cloth brought her cool relief once more.

She fell asleep before she could thank him.

Marx left his private chamber when the priest had finally returned with the promised tea. Though the period that the Hoshidan had been gone was far too long to have simply been down to the kitchens and back. He’d appreciated the time alone, tending to Hinoka and knowing she was still breathing had relaxed him somewhat. Although the matters at hand meant he couldn’t afford to sleep anytime soon, and he wouldn’t have wanted to disturb his wife while she recovered.

“Milord.” Joker stood in the solar, undoubtedly having wanted to be on hand should he need anything.

“There’s been a change of plans regarding my wife.” Marx had been operating as he’d always had, taking on the bull’s share of his responsibilities alone. But he had a partner to think of now, and he’d have to adjust. He’d sworn to. “Draw up a list of my duties that Princess Hinoka might help take on. I must go speak to my father for permission to include her in the ongoing investigation.”


	10. A Single Step Taken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some possibly triggering content is in this chapter. If that concerns you, please read this [page](https://damoselceles.dreamwidth.org/4104.html) where the warning is detailed. Know that the trigger listing also acts as mild spoilers for this chapter.
> 
> Originally posted 2/6/2016.

“So Prince of Nohr, you’ve returned. Did you come to make good on your threats? Is it time for my fingernails to be torn out, or my feet dipped in boiling oil? Or perhaps you will have me moved from this graciously spacious cell and into an oubliette?”

Marx stared down at the gang leader, Ashura, who was shackled and chained to the wall but otherwise untouched as revealed by the light of the lantern in his hands. Hinoka had ordered protection and better treatment for the man, the same day she’d woken from poisoned sleep. So this criminal had been moved to this larger, more clean aired cell— an entire level removed from the one he’d originally been thrown in, that had been close enough to torture chambers to hear any screams.

The Nohrian prince had spoken at length with his wife the day before, and Hinoka had recounted just what had occurred between her and the head of the Green Scales in the Underground District. She felt that she owed the criminal a debt. Marx found the entire event far too coincidental.

“Ah, the silent treatment instead.” The man’s age lines became more pronounced as he smiled mockingly. “Truly fearsome.”

Marx reached up and freed his hands by hanging the lantern on a hook embedded into the ceiling. “Princess Hinoka has shared with me what you told her, that you claim to have taken on a contract unware of her true identity.” Marx didn’t move from his position of standing before the door. “When was the contract offered?”

The smile vanished as Ashura answered, “That same day. It came through the regular channels with half of the promised payment provided. So don’t bother asking who sent the contract as I don’t know. I only know the terms that she was to be taken alive, put on a slow ship to Muse, and that when she arrived there I would receive the rest of the payment.”

If the criminal’s contract had been accomplished and the spouse of Nohrian royalty ransomed by a foreign land, it could’ve been enough to start a war. Yet Hinoka sneaking out with his sister was impromptu, so this contract couldn’t have been made long beforehand. Only his wife, Elise, and their retainers were aware of this plan to visit the Underground District…though the castle servants reports on seeing his sister dressed below her station and wandering the back halls was nothing new. The criminal didn’t appear to be lying, but there was also a distinct lack of tells— which signified this man had been trained in subterfuge.

Marx suspected there was a rat in Krackenstein Castle, but pressed further, “Were you accosting red haired women at random?”

“You need to get out more, Prince, if you think redheads are a common sight in Vindam.” The criminal scoffed, then grew more somber. “And hair color wasn’t the only identifier… I was informed that she would be found near the second Nohrian princess while in my market.”

Marx’s eyes narrowed. “Do you honestly think I believe for a moment that you didn’t know it was my wife when she was with Princess Elise?”

“Believe what you want. The truth is I thought she was just a servant from Hoshido, since it seems like you jealously keep the Hoshidonese princess locked up in your castle.”

Marx knew both his sister and Hinoka had been in disguise, even if poorly done. Yet most commoners hadn’t been able to get a close look at his bride, let alone the criminal element, so it wasn’t as if this man could’ve simply recognized the Hoshidonese princess on sight. “Then what made you realize your mistake?”

The leader of the Green Scales glanced away and did not reply.

Marx was not in the mood for games. “Talk, or I will fetch the dungeonkeep to relieve you of your fingernails.”

“These threats won’t do you any good.” The criminal turned his gaze back to him. “Why should I tell you my secrets when I’ll simply be put to the noose regardless? Taking them to the grave will at least spite you.”

Marx released a sharp breath. His wife had been right, that intimidation would prove ineffective with this man. The Nohrian prince turned without exposing his back to the criminal, and opened the door of the cell.

“Oh, it’s my turn now?” The Hoshidan nearly purred as she strutted in, flicking her dark purple hair behind her.

Hinoka had insisted that he take her father’s retainer, Orochi, to this questioning. While part of Marx had been stung at the suggestion that his wife didn’t trust him, the larger part understood her strategy. The man’s facial features were obviously of eastern ancestry, and the inflection when he’d said ‘Nohr’ indicated that he bore no love for this kingdom. This criminal was more likely to trust a Hoshidan than Nohrian royalty. The dungeons were too far of a trip for Hinoka to make in her current condition, so the Hoshidonese diviner was the next best choice.

“ _Kon'nichiwa_ , Ashura. My name’s Orochi.” The criminal’s eyes went wide at how the woman bent at the waist and leaned in close, likely giving him a clear view down her low collar. “I’m here on behalf of Princess Hinoka. So please stop antagonizing her husband? He’s been grumpy enough as it is.”

Ashura made an incomprehensible noise, then cleared his throat. “W-why should I believe you? What could the lofty members of the royal families want from a dirty thief like me?”

Orochi leaned within arm’s reach of the man, and he shifted back. “Because Princess Hinoka told the both of us how you’re from Kohga, and Prince Marx spoke to his father. We’re willing to help you and all the other refugees if you agree to work with us.”

“…you can’t be serious,” he sounded as if she’d just said that they could swim through the sky.

“If you’d rather be hanged, I can have that arranged. You are a crime lord in Vindam, Ashura of Kohga, and deserve no less than public execution.” Marx gave the criminal a hard look when he met his gaze. “But you are not the only one, the Red Horns are an even worse threat upon this city. If you and the Green Scales agree to work with the kingdom of Nohr to eliminate Ganz’s gang, you will not only be spared execution but granted amnesty and also rewarded for your service to the crown.”

The gravity of their offer finally sunk in past the skepticism. He watched as Ashura’s gaze grew shrewd. “If it got out that the King and Crown Prince of Nohr stooped to working with someone like me, it would damage your reputations.”

Marx had to hold in a sigh. His father had stopped caring about appearing proper long ago.

The criminal's statement seemed to intrigue Orochi, however. “It’s almost sounds like you regret the life you've led.”

Ashura's expression abruptly changed to one like he'd just bitten into a lemon. "Survival has no place for honor."

“Perhaps not, but you live, as do a number of your people.” The criminal’s gaze fixed on him, and Marx knew he had the man. “You've been surviving for a long time, maybe a decade or more with the Green Scales? And you're not the only Kohgan in that gang are you? We attempt to keep records of those who come into the city, though smuggled refugees make the paperwork more difficult. The offer Orochi’s presented to help not only yourself but all the Kohgan refugees still stands.”

Ashura’s entire body grew tense, “Would Nohr grant pardons to everyone in my gang for this service?”

Marx nodded. “If that is the desired reward, yes. We would be willing to wipe their slates clean and assist them in relocating for a new life. If they break the law after the pardon, they will face the consequences in full.”

“Relocation…” It if hadn’t been for the quiet of the cell, Marx might’ve missed that whispered word. Ashura’s eyes grew steely as he said, “Restore my homeland, and I agree to all your terms.”

A snort of laughter escaped Orochi before she stifled it and said, “Kohga? But it's gone! After Fuuma invaded with reinforcements from Nohr, they totally occupied the area. It's all considered Fuum territory now.”

“Those are my terms.” The criminal was still on edge, clearly anticipating rejection. “In addition to the pardon and aid in relocation… If you, Prince Marx, and Princess Hinoka make an oath swearing you will do all in your power to restore the nation of Kohga- then I give my own word to do whatever is necessary to destroy Ganz and his gang.”

Demanding that a fallen country be brought back was no small feat. But then Ashura was also providing a possible location for the refugees and gang members of the Green Scale to be relocated once this was done— somewhere far from Vindam. Garon would likely agree to supporting restoration efforts if it meant the capital would rid itself of the two largest criminal gangs. It was also absolving Hinoka of any debt that she felt she owed this man. Marx saw more gains than losses in the bargain.

Yet the Nohrian prince countered, “The restoration of Kohga will not be on our shoulders alone. I agree to your terms, but only to aid you, Ashura, in your efforts for restoration. It will not be an easy or fast process, but you’ll receive the support of both Nohr and Hoshido. And the agreement does not give my word to possibly wrest land from Fuuma by force, I won’t go to war with an ally for you.”

For a moment the criminal’s eyes were wide with shock, then he somehow wound even tighter. “You’ll pledge to help only _my efforts?_ That means the easiest solution is if I wasn’t around by the end of all this.”

Marx’ brow furrowed at his implication. “No matter what you think of Nohr, you and the Green Scales would be our allies in this. If the terms are agreed upon progress to restore Kohga will be made, it is simply that you are clearly invested— and I want to know that someone else will be working towards this difficult goal. You are more useful alive than dead, Ashura, and once my word is given I honor it.” He knelt so that their eyes were at the same level. “What of your honor? What say you?”

A feverish light burned in the criminal’s gaze. “I'm prepared to destroy the Red Horns and rebuild the nation of Kohga. I swear my loyalty in this, upon my honor as a Kohgan.” Ashura held up a manacled hand.

Marx clasped it with his own and shook, “Then we are agreed.”

Abrupt clapping broke the tense moment, Orochi all but bouncing up and down as she grinned. “How exciting! Who would’ve thought during my trip here I’d witness the first steps of Kohga’s rebirth?”

Marx stood, reached into a pocket, and handed the Hoshidan a key. “Lady Orochi, it is now your duty to watch over and accompany Ashura. Since he is now an ally of both our kingdoms.” When the purple-haired woman took the key with a nod, the Nohrian prince turned and opened the cell’s door.

“W-wait!” Marx glanced over his shoulder and found Ashura looking nervous for the first time. “She’s going to be my minder? W-won’t that be conspicuous?”

“Aw, Ashura, you’re not the only one who knows how to blend in. And once you get to know me, you’ll be thrilled we’re working together.” Orochi held up the key, eyed it speculatively, then shrugged and brought her hands forward near her chest. From his angle Marx saw that her hands were now empty, and by the way Ashura’s eyes had widened with panic he guessed she had slipped the key down her collar. “In fact, let’s send some quality time together until I’ve allayed your fears!”

“Unlike the possibility of Nohrian agents being recognized, no one knows lady Orochi’s face in the Underground. So learn to get along,” he said, before walking out of the cell and closing the door behind him. Sumeragi’s retainer was quite unorthodox, but if the leader of the Green Scales hoped to make any headway on the eastern half of the continent he’d need connections like her. And the less obvious links of the gang’s cooperation with his father, the better.

With a nod to the dungeon guard Marx left Ashura to his fate, and headed to his next destination. He’d need to update Gunther on what was to be done with the prisoners who belonged to the Green Scales, before informing his father on the deal with Ashura. As he walked though, thoughts on the bargain he’d just struck swirled in his mind.

Fuuma would not be happy about a request to give up any portion of land considered rightfully gained during a time of war. They might even be unhappy enough to raise tariffs or make other demands for compensation. It was up to Hinoka and Leo to formulate a strategy on how to make Nohr’s trade with Hoshido profitable— then the kingdom could withstand any troubles with Fuuma.

“Princess Hinoka, shall I have anything else brought from the kitchens?” Nohr’s second prince asked, after he’d primly wiped his mouth and hands with the cloth napkin. An empty plate lay beside the parchment upon the table between them. On it juices from the sun-dried tomatoes, crumbs from the bread, and what was left over of the aged cheese— though Hinoka hadn’t touched the latter.

“No thank you, Prince Leo. I’m fine,” she answered. When Leo glanced away to signal a nearby servant, and she looked around the room.

From her lessons in the past months Hinoka knew Krackenstein Castle to be old, just as the city later made into the kingdom's capital had been established by Nohr's first queen— though it had been expanded and renovated throughout the generations. A lot like the palace in Shirazaki. But that's where the similarities ended. The Hoshidonese princess just couldn't grow accustomed to the echoing stone walls, high ceilings without obvious wooden rafters for support, and the drafts that whistled in darkened corners.

The library of Krackenstein Castle was just as tall and imposing as everything else in Vindam. Unlike the archives at Shirazaki with racks to hold many scrolls, this library was made up of shelves stacked with bound books that went from floor to ceiling. If Hinoka had been steadier on her feet, she might’ve spent a few moments walking along them and running her fingertips along their spines. There was even a spiraling staircase leading to a polished scaffolding and on the main floor were ladders to allow access to the topmost shelves. These ladders had small, round wheels at the base to that they could be moved easily. It reminded her of the intricate pieces that Puppeteers in Hoshido worked with to make their puppets seemingly come to life.

This was the first room the Hoshidonese princess had found low couches for lounging, and if nothing else she appreciated it for allowing her to sit more comfortably than the stiff backed, tall chairs. Hinoka leaned into the cushioned back of the low couch, her legs tucked comfortably under her. It was irritating how easily she tired, but knew with each day her strength was regaining. The wound on her hand was still healing— the poultice and bandages covered her right palm.

The Hoshidonese princess had still been a girl when she'd come face to face with mortality. The fact that one day the precious people whose arms embraced her and carried her, would be gone. Her mother had passed away, and it had been a slow death— one where Hinoka had mourned over inevitability and her own powerlessness even before Ikona's last breath.

The years had simply dulled the pain of loss, the memory grew cold and distant with the passing seasons. One thought remained sharp— that she'd never wanted to feel like that again. So Hinoka had chosen to become a warrior, to become strong enough to stop such tragedy with her own hands.

Yet despite the years she'd trained, honing her body and mind— that very day she'd needed Mozume's assistance for things as simple as moving about Marx's rooms on her own two feet. The poison had ravaged her body, left her weak. The nature of Asama's treatments required no healing magic to be applied, lest risk closing the wound. And while she was steadily recovering on her own time, it was difficult for Hinoka not to feel powerless once more.

If she'd been home in Hoshido, they would've undoubtedly forced her onto a palanquin for transport. But here in Nohr they a sort of rolling chair which required just one servant to push- both practical yet decadent. Hinoka had to bite her tongue every time Joker had brought one for her use, feeling like an invalid.

But after one incident… Marx had caught her once trying to walk the halls by bracing herself against the stone walls and had promptly swept her up into his arms then carried her back to bed. Her husband had been completely unmoved by her protests over being carried like a child, and had even further chastised her by sitting at her bedside with a pile of paperwork to occupy him until he’d deemed she wouldn’t try again. Since then, Hinoka had meekly sat in the wheeled chairs rather than try to struggle on her own diminished power.

She’d been brought down to the castle library that morning to discuss the trade situation between Hoshido and Nohr with her brother-in-law. Now it was past the midday meal, but their discussion and research had been making such progress neither of them had wanted to leave for the dining room and so had finger food brought instead. It was important work that they were doing; Marx had already explained the struggles of Nohrian traders to her. The alliance between their kingdoms was political and economic, moreso than one based on combined military strength. For one of those pillars to be weak, threatened collapse for the entire arrangement— and at this point there was no going back for Hinoka.

The dish and napkins were quickly cleared from the table by servants, and her brother-in-law moved the parchment to the center where they could both easily read what was written upon it.

“To ensure I’ve fully grasped what we’ve discussed, let’s go over once more.” Leo’s dark eyes remained fixed upon the notes written on the parchment. “Hoshido's society operates on a caste system that prevents social mobility, save for extremely pressing circumstances. This came about right after Fuuma’s defection?”

Hinoka nodded. “Yes, Fuuma’s change of loyalty to Nohr was written in the historical records as both an insult and a disgrace. King Seinei wanted to ensure it couldn’t happen again, so he colluded with the feudal lords and together they outlawed a warrior changing the liege who they served without their current lord's permission.”

The corner of Leo’s mouth kicked up as he said, “A method to keep track of the more rebellious feudal lords and those under them. Confiscations of fiefs before rebellion would render the troublesome lord casteless. Rebellious behavior would be discouraged by their own vassals, since it’d also leave them trapped without the ability to change fealty. Clever if callous. Though you mentioned it’s caused problems?”

A sigh escaped the Hoshidonese as she answered. “The system creates many rōnin, warriors with no master. In the past they were able to find work as mercenaries fighting Nohr. However now that Hoshido is not at war with anyone, these rōnin cannot find legitimate employment— apart from piecemeal escorts or low level guard work. It is not a stable living as samurai with lords or land have, and… as a group rōnin receive public derision, are targeted by satire, and often have restricted the quarters where they can live within cities. Because of the castes and the loyalty laws, they cannot find a different living.”

“Thus why many turn to banditry. As a result, rōnin are viewed as dangerous and further the cycle of ostracization,” Nohr’s second prince summed up. Hinoka had to close her eyes momentarily at his light tone over a problem that haunted her. “But it sounds like this is a recent issue?”

Opening her eyes, she shook off old memories. “The laws established by King Seinei transformed an individual’s class into a caste by limiting occupation and marriage by rank of birth. Previously people could change their social status and occupation rather than being trapped by their initial circumstances. Before the reaction to Fuuma’s defection, these warriors would’ve found a new liege or become merchants, farmers, something more appropriate for peacetimes— they would’ve never become rōnin.” _My mother wouldn’t have died_ , Hinoka said only in her heart.

“And it’s these castes which are making trouble with the trade between Hoshido and Nohr now. Since over the decades certain families have been able to establish strangleholds upon their field, merchants included.” The expression on Leo’s face was that someone who’d solved a difficult puzzle. “It’s why our merchants haven’t been able to find lower bids, because a family wouldn’t want to undercut their own profits.”

Hinoka nodded. “The Senou family will be your biggest obstacle. They have the greatest influence over the market and the least willingness to embrace our alliance with Nohr. King Sumeragi and Prince Ryouma are already working to unseat the Senou’s position of power. Since they tend to underpay local farmers for their goods then turn around and overcharge Nohrian traders- undercutting both kingdoms for their own profit.”

“They’re taking advantage of the caste system. As no new merchants have appeared to compete against or change up the market.” The Nohrian prince took up the quill on the table and dipped it in the inkwell to jot down another note. It was almost strange how his handwriting was less neat than her husband’s. “But now our traders want to deal with Hoshidan suppliers directly and threaten to undercut the merchant families' easy profits. No wonder they’ve tried to keep us out.”

“If trade with Nohr is made successful, it’d help my father in more than one way. King Sumeragi is trying to push reforms to eliminate the caste laws, which are artifacts from a bygone era. He has gathered support from most of the Shūgiin, but a majority of the Sangiin remains opposed.” Hinoka was glad they’d already discussed how Hoshido’s government was structured and that her brother-in-law was a quick study on detail. “Many merchant families like the Senou are backing feudal lords who share their anti-Nohr and pro-caste sentiments. If we can bring down that obstacle…”

Leo tone was triumphant as he said, “It’s a win-win. We’ll both get what we want.”

Hinoka nodded, but when she tried to speak she had to fight down a cough. All that talking had left her throat feeling parched. She reached for the glass of half-drunken water on the table which has been delivered alongside their meal.

Leo immediately shifted in his seat, his gloved hand coming into her line of vision as he leaned in until they were barely a handspan apart. Leo said, “Allow me to retrieve that.”

With a sigh, she sat back and let her brother-in-law do just that. Hinoka thanked the Nohrian prince as her hands curled about the cool glass. Throughout her stay in Nohr Hinoka had noticed a difference in Vindam's water. That the waterways flowing about the city looked cloudy rather than clear. Sometimes she found the smell of heated water, both in the baths and with brewed drinks, had an almost metallic overtone. Yet the water she held in her hands was not the same— it left no lingering mineral taste on her tongue.

Asama had told her that since she'd taken ill that Marx's butler had personally drawn water from the spring in the greet court's walled garden for her use, that it was claimed to have healing properties on its own. It made Hinoka feel a bit spoiled to be pampered so. Still she sipped at the spring water until her hands shook too badly, then allowed Leo to take the glass from her hands and set it out of the way.

“Thank you, princess Hinoka, for joining me today.” Her brother-in-law gave her a smile that looked unpracticed and genuine, the sort of smile that pressed dimples into both of his cheeks. Hinoka was stuck by how very young and boyish he looked in that moment.

His genuine appreciation made her blush a bit. Prince Leo hadn't once questioned her authority or credentials as they'd spoken. Never once even hinted that as a woman, this wasn't her place. It made Hinoka wonder if it was because he was a Nohrian. She knew that if she'd tried to similarly discuss policies and trade with a feudal lord back home, most would've condescendingly told her that there was no need to stress her mind with thoughts meant for men. It soured her stomach, although those traditionalists were currently separated from her by the Chasm, the sea, and many leagues.

Leo’s smile turned a bit cheeky, but he moved so that a polite distance was between them. Then he glanced down at the parchment full of notes, “I never would’ve guessed that we were dealing with a monopoly held by families. It explains why they are so unwilling to compete in pricing…” A sigh heaved out of him as his brow furrowed in a way reminiscent of his brother. “Nohr will require a different breed of merchant, the sort unafraid of blazing trails in uncharted territory in order to make headway within Hoshido. I admit, my knowledge on such individuals is lacking.”

“Are you forgetting your maternal family and their trading company, my lord?” A voice called down from the polished scaffolding above the low couches and table. The volume of the words echoed against the book shelves as the speaker continued, “Your own mother traveled across the western half of the continent and personally built trade networks in her youth. Why not ask for her expertise?”

Both of their gazes had turned upwards, but from the corner of her eye Hinoka saw Prince Leo’s expression pinch with frustration. “Nyx,” he sounded annoyed too.

Footsteps reverberated through the scaffolding, then a small face surrounded by dark hair peered over the banister. The markings on her pale skin and sheer veil were the same as they had been during her time in Hoshido— the sorceress’ stature and countenance just as childlike. The canny glint in her eyes hinted to her actual age. Those too-wise eyes fixed themselves upon Nohr’s second prince, “As distasteful as you may find it, Prince Leo, your mother may be the solution to your problem. Even if you’re too proud to go and ask, perhaps Princess Hinoka would be willing.”

“Who, me?” Hinoka was taken a little aback at being brought in to what seemed to be a private spat. But with a nod, Nyx leaned back and out of sight.

Her brother-in-law huffed out a breath. His features smoothed neutrally when he turned to face her. “So long as you received an invitation, Princess Hinoka, you are of high enough standing to be permitted into the Northern Citadel. Though my mother wouldn’t help us, unless she deemed that she could benefit personally.”

“Why wouldn’t your mother benefit? This would help all of Nohr and King Garon is her-” Hinoka cut herself off as she realized she’d almost said _husband_ , which wasn’t the case for concubines.

She doubted the Nohrian prince’s keen mind hadn’t noticed her slip. Yet he instead said, “My mother is the second concubine out of three. While she enjoys living in luxury at the Northern Citadel, it’s with none of the power that Queen Ektrina or even First Concubine Dahlia possess. Because of that, my mother is very opportunistic and if we go to her for help… she won’t be thinking about greater good of Nohr, but herself.” Prince Leo’s neutral expression visibly soured. She couldn’t help but wonder what’d happened to make him dislike his own mother so?

But Hinoka stifled her curiosity and said, “Still, it sounds like she might know the type of trader we’re looking for. Prince Leo, could you ask-”

“No. Pardon my lack of manners, but my mother and I are not on speaking terms.” The sudden set of his shoulders and tenseness in his face made it clear that the Nohrian prince didn’t want to go into details.

So Hinoka squashed the urge to ferret out why, and asked, “Would it be improper if I asked her for assistance?”

There was a long pause before her brother-in-law answered, “My mother wouldn’t ignore someone as influential as the Crown Prince’s bride. But I can’t say if she would agree to help, thus the entire effort could be a waste of time.”

“I’d be willing to try. All I have is time.” Prince Leo sent her a cool look, but Hinoka didn’t let it ruffle her. “Would it be best if I sent a letter requesting to meet with her?”

He gave a resigned sigh. “It wouldn’t be prudent to detail our plans in letters, so yes, best to ask to meet. Since you’ll have to explain our situation face-to-face.”

Despite her brother-in-law’s reluctance to speak with his mother personally, he was more than willing to discuss how Hinoka should go about asking. They deliberated and speculated on ways the talks might turn for the worst. Leo even helped Hinoka draft and revise the first letter to be sent- though she found him to be more hard on flaws in his own work than anything else.

During this time the Nohrian retainer had climbed down the spiraling staircase from the scaffolding, a tall stack of books in her slim arms. As she came over and set the pile onto an unoccupied cushion of a couch, Prince Leo gave her a sharp look. “I do not appreciate how freely you mention my mother, Nyx.”

The tiny sorceress didn’t even blink as she replied, “Just because you’d prefer to pretend your mother doesn’t exist hardly erases her from your lineage, my lord. Nor does it reduce her capabilities.”

If Hinoka hadn’t been watching the exchange closely she would’ve missed the quick roll of Leo’s eyes. When he spoke, her mind colored his words petulant, “I don’t do that. We’re not on speaking terms, mutually agreed, it’s not as if I’m holding some secret grudge. Bottling up emotions is something Marx would do."

While the second prince of Nohr and Nyx continued to bicker, Hinoka couldn’t help think on those words more.

 _Bottling up emotions_ , was a very apt observation in regard to Nohr’s crown prince.

When the poison had left her bedridden Marx had been reluctant to lay down alongside her, convinced his presence would disturb her healing. Hinoka had practically fallen out of the covers arguing with him, before her husband had finally relented and slept in his own bed. Even after she regained enough strength to move about the Nohrian prince had seemed… hesitant to touch her in any way that might be taxing.

There were times she'd caught Marx looking at her with longing, but whenever their eyes had met he'd check himself- recoil from something he deemed inappropriate but was unknown to her. Her husband guarded himself ruthlessly, and it hurt to see him do it. Sakura might have kept her eyes demurely averted, because of her shyness, but Hinoka never stifled the downward twist of her mouth or the firm set of her shoulders. Asking for intimacy from a person clearly struggling with it, had her feeling irresponsibly forward.

That very morning Hinoka had demanded a kiss from Marx before they’d had to leave his private chambers. The opportunity had come up, albeit in a strange way, and she’d been unable to help herself. Kissing him had been pure self-indulgence on her part. Yet for someone so reserved her husband had been unexpectedly touch-starved as was evident in the way he always pulled her close when asleep.

Since she’d gone through the ritual of adulthood the Hoshidonese princess had gone after things she wanted. But now she wondered if in trying to un-bottle Marx’s feelings, she was also a bit selfish. Hinoka’s gaze drifted down to her left hand and the golden ring that glimmered faintly in the lantern light.

A week had passed since Hinoka and Leo had discussed how his mother might help them, then sent a letter and planned a trip to the Northern Citadel. The day before Asama had finally declared the poison gone and his treatments over, thus the healing magic of festal and staff alike had been applied. Only a faint scar was left on Hinoka's right palm and her usual energy levels had returned.

So the Hoshidonese princess had flying mounts saddled and with an escort of Nohrian wyvern riders, she and Setsuna had flown from Krackenstein Castle to the fortified manse. They flew past its high walls mounted with magical orbs and ballista alike, and were able to land in a large courtyard. Once their mounts had been handed off to the resident stablehands, one of the citadel staff had told the wyvern riders to wait then led them inside.

There a blonde woman wearing a black and white maid’s uniform had greeted Hinoka and Setsuna by name and requested they follow her. The Hoshidonese princess was taken aback by the familiar face and had blurted out, “Do you also work at Krackenstein Castle?”

The blonde maid had cocked her head to the side as she’d answered, “ _Non,_ I only work here for _madame_. But my sisters are at the castle and we look _presque identique_ , same face.”

Hinoka had felt herself flush with embarrassment and had hastily asked the maid to lead on. They didn’t stay indoors for long, passing quickly through a hallway or two and then outside into a smaller courtyard. They were led through down the maze-like path of a flowering garden to a covered seating area at its center. The shape of the structure vaguely reminded Hinoka of a tea ceremony hut, but the strong floral scent surrounding was unforgettable— roses. From a glance Hinoka could tell all the bushes were the everblooming hybrid, with lush petals in shades of red and white. But she put the roses from her mind as the maid stopped at the step and announced, "The princess of Hoshido and her retainer, here to see you, _madame_."

" _Merci_ , Renée." The woman sitting within the gazebo set a slip of paper between the book's pages and closed it, before rising gracefully onto her feet. She dipped into a polite bow, jeweled earrings bobbing with the motion, as she said, “Princess Hinoka. You honor me with your presence. Please, do come up and sit.”

The Hoshidonese princess thanked her and climbed the step onto the wooden platform. Yet when Setsuna moved to follow, the woman held up a hand and spoke with a stern tone, “I would prefer it if your retainer remained with Renée outside the gazebo.”

Hinoka sent an apologetic look to Setsuna, but the archer had already stepped back down and settled herself comfortably against the ground. Taking a fortifying breath, she turned back and took the bench across from the woman.

The woman’s clothing was quite different from the heavy gowns Hinoka'd seen on the Nohrian noblewomen at the castle's court. Leo's mother was dressed in low heeled boots, dark trousers, and a matching bolero jacket which were offset by a high collared, frilly white blouse. The stark colors brought out the copper tinted yellows of her bobbed hair and the red paint on her pouty lips, while dark makeup about her eyes brought attention to the light brown of them. There was also a pair of half-moon spectacles balance on her button-like nose and the barest hint of crow’s feet at the corner of her eyes. She appeared to be a woman of both sophistication and elegance.

Hinoka prayed to the gods that she looked even a fraction as put together in her tenma warrior uniform, there was little hope for her hair since they’d flown over. It seemed Leo’s mother had waited for Hinoka to give her the once over, for when their eyes met she spoke. “I am Blanche, Leo's mother. We’ve seen each other before, at your marriage ceremony to the Crown Prince."

Hinoka was a tad mortified that she really didn't remember this woman, not ever her face. Her thoughts must've shown, because the bespectacled woman continued.

"It's quite alright. There was no reason a royal bride at her own wedding would be concerned with a second concubine like myself." Blanche shot her an appraising look that Hinoka had seen before, on Leo’s face. "Honestly I'm surprised that you wanted to meet with me even now."

"I hope I'm not imposing, since...” She searched for the right words, trying not to feel foolish. “We were never properly introduced."

"Oh, don't worry over that. My son would sooner walk about the city naked than force himself close enough to me to make introductions. And while His Majesty does visit from time to time, I doubt he'd be in a mood for formalities with other visitors." Blanche gave a laugh with no real humor and Hinoka felt a blush threatening to creep upon her face.

“Y-your garden’s lovely.” She found herself blurting out, trying to keep images of King Garon from her mind.

“Oh it’s not truly my garden alone, I only tend the roses here.” Leo’s mother glanced past her to the view over the surrounding blossoms. “It feels good to dirty your hands with hard work. Not that I could even convince Sacha or the other highborn women here to join me.”

Hinoka remembered the rosarium and asked, “Did you teach Prince Leo how to tend roses?”

The look Blanche sent her was one of surprise. “Why yes, I did. He’d been eager to learn everything since he was small… but caring for a thorny flower forced my son to slow down and take time to consider.” Hesitation entered her expression as Leo’s mother asked, “…does he still do so?”

Hinoka nodded, “Prince Leo seems to like the rosarium at the castle. I found him there once cutting flowers to give to a performer.”

“So… Leo hasn’t completely rejected everything I taught him then.” Her voice was soft and sad. But it lasted only a moment, then Blanche’s tone snapped like a whip, "Now, what is it that you need from me?"

There was little point in pretending this was purely a social call, so Hinoka spoke frankly, "Prince Leo's told me that your family runs one of the most successful trade companies in Nohr. And I’ve been sent to ask for your help. We need merchants, ones good at haggling, to break into Hoshido's trade and market."

Blanche leaned back, her narrow chin tipping up. “Hoshido is the pearl of the east, full of riches but just as beyond reach. It's been that way since before I was born. Despite the new alliance, I haven't seen much change to that. What makes you think it can change at all, Your Highness?"

This was the question Hinoka’d been waiting for and she launched into the explanation she’d practiced for days with both princes of Nohr. As succinctly as she could, she explained that there were many in Hoshido willing to deal with Nohrian traders— if they could find a way through the current stranglehold. She explained the caste laws and their desire to break the monopoly of the merchant families. Leo’s mother asked questions and Hinoka answered in detail, talking long enough that thirst bothered her by the time she was done.

Blanche must've noticed how she kept clearing her throat as she requested a pause then ordered the maid to bring them tea. They sat for a moment in contemplative silence. The Hoshidonese princess did her best to look calm, despite the way her heart was skittering with nervousness— if she failed to make gain Blanche’s aid, they’d have to come up with a new solution.

“I know many dyers and owners of textile mills that’d give their right arm for larger quantities of those shells that can be crushed to make purple dye.” Hinoka’s own hand closed reflexively, knowing she’d come too close to losing both it and her life. However, the woman’s eyes weren’t watching her but were hazy— seeing something miles away. “I may be able to find you an adventurer, one that's good at both exploration and legal acquisition…”

Those light brown eyes suddenly came into sharp focus and pinned Hinoka. "My family's trading company is not a vassal to the king nor an almshouse. It is a business. One that must provide a profit to our financiers for their continued support. To take on something new like this would be a great risk, even with the promise of a stipend from the crown.” Blanche sounded skeptical as she asked, “What can you offer me that makes this worthwhile?”

“My full support as a princess of Hoshido. As much as I am able I will act as an envoy between Nohr and my people, but capable individuals such as yourself have far more expertise than I in this field.” Hinoka excused herself as she stood to walk over and tap her retainer on the shoulder. The archer woke from her doze and Setsuna handed her a small, rectangular box. The Hoshidonese princess walked back and handed the box over to Leo's mother. “And I hope that this will cover any costs for your family’s company to take on this venture.”

The woman admired the delicately carved coral flowers embedded upon the lacquered lid with an appraiser's scrutiny, before opening it— then her eyes widened with shock. Hinoka knew what she gawked at. Inside the box was crammed full of pearls: pale pink, green, black, and ropes of iridescent white. Here in Nohr, it was a small fortune.

Hinoka hadn't told Leo, only Marx about this part of the plan. The pearls and box were part of her dowry, just as Nohr had sent chests full of precious gemstones for the bride price. In her reckoning it was hers to use as she saw fit— and making this deal was worth it.

Hinoka held her breath as Blanche held up a long string and muttered, “…pearls of the east indeed.”

Her exhale was shaky as Leo’s mother replaced the necklace and closed the lid. Her eyes were shrewd as she met Hinoka’s gaze. “It will take quite some time to set up schedules, routes, and networks, even after I find the proper adventurer. Would you trust my agents to work independently and answer to me rather than the king?” Blanche sounded unimpressed as she asked, "Would you trust me?"

Hinoka determinedly nodded. "I wouldn't have come if I didn't. While Leo didn't want come personally, he sounded confident that you could help us. Are you willing to?"

Her brother-in-law had prepared her for demands, various offers which might entice. But after a moment of silence, Hinoka watched as Blanche pressed her painted lips together, a familiar dimple creased her cheek as she tried not to smile outright.

"It's my own fault that boy has such pride.” She gave a dramatic, and familiar, sigh. “Very well, I will act as a liaison between Nohr's royal family and the West Chevalier Trading Company on behalf of the trade with Hoshido. My one requirement is that you, Princess Hinoka, visit me once a week to ensure clear communication."

Hinoka allowed the excited grin to spill out across her face. "I swear to you I will, lady Blanche! Thank you."

She offered her open hand in Nohrian fashion; Leo’s mother clasped it with her own and gave a hearty shake. "No need for the title, Your Highness. While I am a royal concubine and my family wealthy, we have no peerage. Calling me by my given name will do."

The Hoshidonese princess agreed without argument, feeling the rush of victory buzz through her.

The blonde maid had returned to the gazebo with a serving tray that held a full spread for Nohrian tea. The servant poured them each a cup from the tall kettle and while Blanche took two lumps, Hinoka declined any cream or sugar— she didn’t understand how Nohrians could stand to drink the combination of tastes. Although the black teas that were drank in Nohr did not have the mellow subtlety of the green teas she'd been raised on back home. Even if the drink was essentially the same, the Hoshidonese princess found the etiquette and even the tea set itself to be foreign. The handles on the cups especially confused her, as they weren’t big enough to hook all one’s fingers through. And while the porcelain was finely made, she worried if she gripped it too hard that it would snap off since it looked as delicate and brittle as a bird’s bone.

As she took the cup and saucer, these thoughts made Hinoka long for the small yet sturdy tea cups of the ceremonies back home to warm her hands. She watched and waited until Blanche brought the fine cup to her mouth and sipped. With the hostess having initiated, it was now polite to partake, so the Hoshidonese princess hooked two fingers through the thin handle and began raise it to her lips.

The blonde maid leaned and whispered something into the woman’s ear, and Blanche’s eyebrows nearly rose to her hairline. She hastily said, “This had completely slipped my mind after all these years, but please know the tea in the Northern Citadel is brewed with black dragon root.”

Hinoka's movement immediately halted. While black dragon root originated on the western half of the continent, the plant rumored to have sprouted in the shadow of a real dragon’s corpse, it'd been grown and used for centuries on the eastern half as well. Shavings of the root sprinkled in with tea leaves helped ease the discomfort of cramps which accompanied menses...but if drank regularly, it would prevent a man's seed from quickening within a woman's womb.

Hinoka hadn't thought much on the fact that one day Marx's seed would take and she'd grow big with child. At first perhaps out of nervousness, then simply being preoccupied with all the new changes in life, yet now that she couldn’t help but think on it... The possibility of having Marx's child, of making one together, had Hinoka’s heart beating hard enough to be frightening.

The Hoshidonese princess’ hand almost shook as she set the delicate cup back into its saucer, the drink untouched. Her fingers felt stiff as she unbent them from around the handle. “…why is the tea here brewed that way?”

“At the Queen’s orders.” Blanche looked at Hinoka over half-moon spectacles. “You must’ve noticed that each of the Concubines and Her Majesty have one child only. The black dragon root in the tea helps to ensure this. Forgive me for not mentioning it earlier.” Her expression was resigned as Leo’s mother took a long sip of the tea, the paint from her lips leaving a red kiss upon the porcelain’s white rim.

“Renée please fetch our guest a more appropriate drink.” The maid bowed and went off. Once she was out of sight Blanche set aside her own saucer and emptied cup. “While we wait, would you care to play a game to pass the time, Princess Hinoka?”

“A game?” Hinoka was undeniably curious.

From her seat Blanche reached underneath the bench and drew out a scuffed wooden box. With it in her hands she stood and came to sit on the bench Hinoka occupied, the Hoshidonese princess scooted aside to make room. Leo’s mother set the box between them and opened it up, then drew out a thin board painted in a checkered pattern and small carved pieces in different shapes— all in the same black or white colors. Although Hinoka hadn’t see this variant before, she recognized it as a board game which Takumi was so fond of.

As she set out the pieces onto the board, Blanche said, "This, Princess Hinoka, is Chess, the game of life. Do not be fooled, even my son couldn't reliably beat me at this game." She then proceeded to explain the different pieces and how they could move. Like Shogi, Chess had a king, knights, bishops, rooks, and pawns— but it had one Hinoka couldn't guess at.

Finally, Blanche picked up the mysterious piece and explained, "This piece is the queen. She is the most powerful on the board and has the combined movement of all the other pieces. However, she can be taken like any other, even by the lowliest pawn..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken liberties with the information gleaned from [the m!Kamui/Ashura support](http://pastebin.com/e6xFyDF0) and [the f!Kamui/Ashura support](http://pastebin.com/E6LkATTq). It's not specified how Kohga was destroyed (from what I can see), so in a world with limited real estate I had it so that Fuuma claimed land for themselves with how eager they are to expand. Also there's no monsters in this AU, just people, so Nohr and Fuuma destroyed Kohga together.
> 
> Shūgiin, the lower house of popularly elected officials, and Sangiin, upper house made up of aristocrats, are taken from Japanese history during the Taisho democracy.
> 
> A big thanks to [Isangma](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Isangma) for BETAing!


	11. Gold Turned To Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 5/28/2016, revised 4/8/2017.

Hinoka couldn’t sleep. Despite that this night had followed a long day and that she’d laid beneath the bed covers long enough to warm them, she felt wide awake. She was always up with the dawn and prepared for bed not long after sunset, both in Shirazaki and now in Vindam… and too seldom had she fallen asleep quickly or slept the entire night through.

At first the strangeness of Krackenstein castle had kept her from falling asleep. The faint dusty scent that had constantly tickled her nose for the first few weeks, the cold seeping out of the surrounding stone, the pitch darkness and quiet of the bedroom, the smothering weight of the blankets and too soft give of the feather mattress— all were so different from her bright and airy rooms back home. Yet she’d begun to grow accustomed after all this time, and knew it was not what kept her awake in this moment.

Neither was it having to sleep in shared quarters. While there was difficulty relaxing under the eyes of strangers, she’d long since adjusted to falling asleep beside others as her squad of tenma warriors had to often make camp while out on deployment. Although her husband remained a mystery is some ways, she wouldn’t call him a stranger anymore. Whether she liked it or not she’d already been at his mercy when the poison had left her weak, the fact that she was now recovered made his care for her evident. On impulse Hinoka reached out and felt the indents on the other side of the feather mattress. If she admitted truthfully, she was more restless alone in this Nohrian bed than when he laid beside her.

She allowed her eyes to open in the dark bedroom as she came to the conclusion that there was no good reason for her not to be asleep. Ever since her mother had died, there'd simply been some nights that slumber evaded her no matter how long she’d closed her eyes. Hinoka gave the squishy pillow below her head a hard smack then turned from her side onto her back. These worries and a troubled mindset had cultivated insomnia— yet it was also nothing unusual to her family.

She knew that Takumi also had troubled sleep, woke at odd times from ill dreams though it’d been many years since he’d woken screaming. Camilla had been quite the oddity in the first few months with how she would occasionally walk through the castle halls while the moon shone in the nighttime sky and then sleep well until midday. Ryouma would rove rather than rest, for her older brother was much like herself and sought something to do with his hands when sleep would not come.

In Shirazaki's castle the Hoshidonese princess would often pass such sleepless nights beside a lantern making paper cranes. Smoothing and folding the thin paper over and over often soothed her to a resemblance of rest, even if no true sleep was achieved those nights. Although there'd been sleepless nights since her arrival in Nohr, she'd never retrieved the box of origami paper from her bridal chest. Hinoka had given up the thought of making any attempt after she'd realized that every night she laid beside her slumbering husband, he inevitably drew her into his arms and his body anchored hers in bed. She hadn't the heart to wake him so that she might retrieve a personal distraction.

She had noticed the Nohrian prince tended to stay awake well into the dark of night. There had been many times that Hinoka had gone to bed while Marx remained behind his desk, scribbling a quill over parchment by candlelight. On those following mornings where she was awake before he rose, Hinoka had caught her husband sleepily groaning as he pulled himself from beneath the covers before sunrise, his posture begging for just a bit more rest. She'd always feigned sleep whenever Marx came to bed late or woke after she did...and wasn't entirely sure why.

Maybe it was the fact it was an old problem, one that he couldn't hope to solve. Or perhaps it was the thoughts that filled up her mind, worries that weren't sensible but more personal.

With a sigh she sat up and pushed the heavy blankets away, unable to deny that sleep was far from her and unwilling to pretend. A shiver went through her as she sat up and got her legs under her, the night air almost chilled against her bare skin after having warmed the bedclothes. Although there was no kami-dana to bow to, Hinoka knelt properly and quietly clapped her hands together. Closing her eyes, she said aloud, "Mother. Honored Ancestors. Intercede with the holy Dawn Dragon on my behalf..."

Hinoka prayed that the gods would only send her little brother peaceful dreams that night and that her ancestors would grant Ryouma rest. Another thought hit her and prayers for her sister, her father, her sister-in-law, for all her precious people in Hoshido followed. The prayers lasted long enough that she began to feel herself falling into a trance, despite having no mala to count. Hinoka came out of it as a wave of longing for her homeland, friends, and family washed over her.

The Hoshidonese princess was about to end her prayers, when she realized her new home and family could benefit from her prayers too. Before she could begin for Nohr the door to the private chambers swung open.

“Princess Hinoka, you’re still awake?”

She opened her eyes, glanced up, and found her husband lingering in the doorway holding a candlestick, the way he looked at her was almost bemused. Likely because it was the first time she’d let him catch her awake while in bed. Part of her wondered if it wasn’t an answer to an unspoken prayer— after all, they’d sworn to share their burdens so it was best to give up the habit of hoarding secrets.

Hinoka lowered her hands. “Just as you are.” She nearly used his title out of habit but managed to set it aside for her purposes, “Marx.”

His dark eyes flicked to hers with what might’ve been surprise, but he glanced away a moment later. Flustered perhaps? It was difficult for her to tell; the Nohrian prince hid his true feelings too well.

“…what were you doing?” He asked, voice tentative, as he closed the door and bolted it.

He set the holder down on a small table beside the bed, the candle within the dish had almost melted fully into a pool of wax— it’d likely burned since evening and it was now undoubtedly well into the night. Hinoka watched him shrug out of his evening wear and hang the clothing beside her nemaki upon a hook affixed to the wall. Marx didn’t shy from her gaze yet didn’t meet it either.

“I was praying.”

“Praying? Here?” He cast a quick glance about the lowly lit room as if the place was suddenly alien to him.

The action piqued her curiosity. “Yes, here. Don’t you sometimes pray when you’re alone in your rooms?”

He shook his head and walked to his side of the bed, closest to the door.

So she asked, “Where do you pray?”

Rather than sliding under the bedclothes he sat down, the mattress sank under his weight and caused her to list towards him. She barely heard him give a long exhale before he answered, “It’s more of a matter of when. The royal family publicly leads ritual prayers on the high holy days, but more commonly are prayers offered to the gods before battle.”

The latter did not sound like the prayers of happiness and well-being she had just sent. Hinoka’s curiosity got the better of her. “What sort of prayers does one say before battle?”

Marx’s eyes closed. “That the Dusk Dragon will take the lives of our enemies, rather than our own.”

She’d heard back in Shirazaki that the western kingdom was as brutal as the god they worshiped. Yet since she’d come to Nohr she’d found that to be both true and not— life was hard here, brutal even, but the Nohrian people’s struggle proved their will to live was strong. It continued to surprise her that she’d met no priests, that there were no apparent holy places offering succor for the weary in spirit. Part of her was tempted to ask if the sanctuary they’d been wed within was the only temple-like place in Vindam, but something about the way he held himself hushed her.

Hinoka looked at Marx, looked hard, and saw the heavy set of his shoulders, the tension in his back and neck as he sat with his back as straight as if in one of those hard backed chairs. Although in some ways her husband was still a stranger to her, she’d watched him long and closely enough to tell when something important was on his mind. It reminded her of how Ryouma looked when he had troubled thoughts and instead chose to shoulder his duties, carried any unspoken doubts inside him like a physical weight.

Although, Hinoka decided, Marx was by no means a mirror of her brother. He didn’t simply shoulder both troubles and duty, the Nohrian prince enclosed both around himself and polished with formalities to keep the rest of the world out. He used it like a shield to keep all at arms’ length. Hinoka had seen that same tension come over him in situations with her where he must've felt ill-equipped to navigate more casually. Instead he fell back on rigid decorum and politesse, bottled up his private self.

 _Constantly hiding must be lonely._ The thought was loud enough to drown out the day’s troubles, and the next sobered her. _While I keep secrets he leaves too much unspoken._

Determination filled Hinoka to change things between them, and she made the first offering. “I’m awake because worries have me restless. So I prayed that our family in Hoshido would find rest even if I cannot.” She moved across the bed until their bodies almost touched. “I should’ve prayed for you.”

At her words Marx’s eyes opened and he turned to look her full in the face. When he spoke it was softly enough that she almost didn’t hear, “No need… I sleep well so long as you are beside me.” Marx’s brow furrowed, expression one that more matched a confession of guilt than the relief of admission.

Hinoka placed a hand to his temple, her thumb lightly pressed against the creases near his eye, as though she could smooth away the lines and worries. His entire body tensed at the touch, yet he didn't make any move to push her away. Even after all this time he seemed to struggle on how to be welcoming, but he never tried to chase her off— and Hinoka found hope in that.

After a too long moment Marx relaxed with the barest of shudders. He didn’t object as she began to trace his face with her fingertips, simply continued to watch her with shuttered eyes. When her fingertips ran along his jaw, a rough graze made her pause and feel again— stubble. Usually her husband took great pains to shave every morning and evening, as Nohrian hair was more plentiful in quantity and growth compared to Hoshidans, despite the fact that with the lightness of his hair color made it difficult to tell if he missed a day.

Hinoka's hand dropped onto his broad shoulder. "Are you... growing a beard?"

"Not in full. Just enough for shadow..." Marx sent her a look that was almost bashful. "My apologies, it's unbecoming."

She couldn’t hold back a laugh. “It’s not that! I’m not so shallow as to find a beard off putting if you grew one.” Yet what he said also make her stop and think.

Hinoka hadn’t known her grandfather, King Tajihi, for he’d died during very first years of her older brother’s life— but her grandfather’s portrait in the castle depicted him in the height of his youth with a full beard not unlike her father-in-law’s. During Tajihi’s reign and the era preceding it'd been customary for fighting men to maintain facial hair as it’d been considered to show their fighting spirit. After Sumeragi had negotiated the armistice with Nohr he had shaved off all of his facial hair— to demonstrate his commitment for ways of peace rather than war. And so men being clean shaven had become the norm in Hoshido, or only small, well-groomed patches. Until this moment she hadn't much wondered on the fact that Nohrian men by-in-large also went clean shaven... It made her wonder if there was anything that’d brought it into fashion, and just what caused her husband to be convinced she’d find it unsavory.

She kept her tone purposefully light as she spoke, “I was just curious. Why’re you growing it?”

Marx was quiet for a long while, gaze turned inward, then he again looked at her with watchfulness. “I’m going to be away from the castle for a couple of days and I cannot look myself.”

“What’ll you be doing?” He hesitated again, so she prodded, “We swore not to keep secrets from each other. Please don’t leave me without answers, Marx. Where will you be?”

She felt him take a long inhale then he answered without pause, “Ashura and his gang have rooted out many on the Red Horn’s hideouts, but we’ve yet to find the gang’s leader. There’s an annual tournament that is always held in Vindam during the final month of spring. Fighters with all manner of patrons enter and compete for glory and the prize money. Our informants have told us all about the leader of the Red Horn’s habit to patron prize fighters. This year he’s backed one which might sweep the competition, but the tournament requires entrants to come in pairs. Adviser Iago devised a plan. Under an assumed name an agent of ours will become that battle partner and fight in the arena, as it’s said Ganz personally congratulates the fighters if they claim championship.”

“…and you will be the one to go?” Again Marx didn’t hesitate as he nodded. Hinoka’s hand gripped his shoulder when she demanded, “Let me come with you!”

“I cannot. The nature of this mission, no one can accompany me.” His dark eyes went from shuttered to seeking as he said, “It’s still not safe for you to be without guard outside the castle.”

“Going alone sounds dangerous,” she argued, trying not to sound childish.

The stern line of Marx’s mouth softened until there were hints of a teasing smile. “You’re not the only one who can handle themselves, Hinoka.” Then his expression became serious once more. “Besides being with any royal retainers or known agents increase chances of being recognized thus is a risk. Better I go, ensure the prize fighter wins, then she can be tailed to the gang’s headquarters.”

“So you’re just fighting in the tournament, not trying to infiltrated the gang?” At his nod, she gave a sigh of relief. “Still, is there any way I can help?”

Another relief was how Marx’s gaze didn’t grow shuttered as he spoke, “Perhaps… You would have to ask my father.” She did her best not to visibly balk, but something must’ve shown as his hand settled over hers. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you earlier. Very few know I will be doing this and it must remain that way.”

Hinoka nodded. Preparing for a solo mission must’ve been what’d filled his schedule in addition to regular duties; no wonder he was tired. Ryouma sometimes went off by himself to track the movements of particularly dangerous rōnin, but again this felt… different. Something about the idea of Marx being alone unsettled her, and she couldn’t say why.

She turned her hand and gave his hand reassuring squeeze. “Can I at least see you off?”

“I can arrange that.” She felt tension return to his body as he gaze fell from her face and to her hand covered by his. “Is there anything else you desire tonight?”

While she knew Marx saw sharing a bed with her as a duty, one with the promise of heirs, a small part of Hinoka hoped he enjoyed the act of coupling for its sake alone— as she did. The physical intimacy and connection when they moved together was something she'd craved once it'd been put aside for her recovery some weeks ago. There still were moments she could scarcely think of anything else; her mind wandered to the dark of their bedchamber when she should’ve been familiarizing herself with the names and histories of Nohr’s high houses.

Since the poisoning her husband had resolved to keep himself from ‘taxing’ her further. After her health had been restored Hinoka had finally convinced him that she wanted him to see to his husbandly duties. It hadn’t been the mutual pleasure which required only a little guidance, like their couplings had been before… Marx’s hands had shaken when he touched her intimately while his watchfulness had bordered on extreme, as if he feared she might break should he not be completely gentle.

A month ago it would’ve annoyed, possibly insulted her, to be treated like she was made of glass. Yet after living with this man for the better part of a season, she understood despite all intimidating appearances he had a gentle nature and that Marx blamed himself harshly if he believed he’d caused unnecessary harm. She suspected that the instance he’d lost his temper with her after the Underground District was one too many in his mind— despite the fact that it was a mutual event and that she’d already accepted his apology.

This wasn’t the first time Hinoka had been with a man whose hands shook with uncertainty, but her other partner also hadn’t been afraid of alienating her. With her husband Hinoka had to be patient. Putting additional pressure when their trust was still building seemed like demanding the stars shine while the sun was still in the sky— it was too early for such things. Although he had been the one to bring up desires, this night there was a plainly evident exhaustion in Marx and she felt no need to tire him further.

She smiled at him. “No, I don’t need anything else.”

His dark eyes peered into hers, not precisely doubtful, but he evidently found her genuine and relented. “Let us sleep, then.”

In companionable quiet they wormed their way under the sheets and heavy blanket. Marx remained sitting upright until her head was firmly set against the pillow, then he blew out the candle and let darkness overtake the room. She felt more than saw him slide until he was laying down and the mattress sank under his full weight. The sheets felt uncomfortably cool with the warmth from her husband’s body within reach and she knew from experience was more comfortable than the feather mattress.

It made Hinoka speak without thinking, “Marx, will you hold me?”

“What?” He didn’t sound upset, merely confused.

She scrambled to explain herself, “I- I should’ve said earlier… By morning I’ll be in your arms, so will you hold me while you’re awake?”

Her breath became lodged in her throat when Marx didn’t answer, but escaped all in a rush as his arms wrapped around her and pulled her to his side. She waited as serenely as she could while he settled alongside her beneath the covers, naked as they’d always been when laid down to sleep. At the touch of his bare skin against hers Hinoka felt a sudden rush of heat, but she fought back the blush that threatened to rise on her face.

This close Hinoka could smell that his breath was sweet from the sage and rosemary tooth powder. She also breathed in the faint scent of soap and clean skin, a customary evening bath must’ve taken away the lingering scents of armor oil and horse. Yet as she continued to breathe she found Marx exuded the barest hint of musk, sharp and earthy— an underlying scent that she'd come to recognize from many nights of a shared bed. It caused her to lean into her husband as her body relaxed, comfortable despite how they were turned on their sides and pressed together. He was warm against her, and the curve of his upper arm as it wrapped about her shoulders was easy to rest her head against.

She did her best not to wonder if her body'd already learned to desire him or simply the intimacies of sleeping in a shared bed. The truth, she suspected, lay somewhere in between. Their bodies curled close enough that Marx’s heartbeat was strong and steady in her ear, and finally, Hinoka’s crowded thoughts were quieted enough for sleep to come.

Travel by warp staff proved quite disorienting. The green flash of a magic circle was the only warning before one bodily appeared in an entirely different place. A sensation not unlike vertigo caused one’s head to spin as the new surroundings were taken in– which made the fact that Nohrian mages used the method for surprise attacks all the more intimidating.

This staff magic was how the Hoshidonese princess and her husband had arrived in this small anteroom of a guardhouse at the outer end of the castle drawbridge. Marx hadn’t wanted any in the castle to observe him leave, thus Joker had used the staff’s magic for discretion. Yet the butler hadn’t been the only one waiting in the room.

The moment Hinoka had been wrapped into the room, a reedy voice she didn’t recognize had rung out, “Your Highness, I didn’t know to expect another esteemed guest!”

When she’d tried to look for the speaker the room had spun dramatically and forced her to close her eyes lest she become nauseous.

“My wife knows my upcoming mission and shall see me off.”

The deep rumble of Marx’s voice close by helped anchor her senses, and after a steadying breath Hinoka opened her eyes.

Standing beside her husband’s servant was another man with stooped posture, dressed in the revealing garb of Nohrian mages and an almost theatrical hat. His features were odd, almost exaggerated— a large mouth, a snub nose, and eyes that looked to droop within his gaunt face. His coloration was more common by Nohrian standards, pale skin and yellow hair, although the grey of his eyes was light enough to look nearly colorless.

“My lady,” Joker bowed to her while he gestured to the stranger with the hand not holding a staff. “This is Zola, a mage with great illusory talent.”

The mage’s already wide mouth stretched further as he smiled and gave a deep bow. “Greetings, Princess Hinoka! It’s an honor that we should be introduced.” She returned the greeting and he enthusiastically continued, “Might you pardon one such as I for saying, but you are a fair flower to behold both near and from afar–”

“Zola.” Marx’s voice was even and calm, but from her angle the press of his lips bordered on a pout. “I must arrive at the arena within a candlemark.”

The mage righted himself, long hat bouncing with the sudden motion. “Of course, Your Highness! We shall have you properly disguised without delay.”

Joker offered a chair and Hinoka took a seat out of the way to watch the flurry of motion as the butler and the mage prepared her husband. Like her own excursion with Elise, this dressing began with the Nohrian prince donning clothing far from royal standards. Then they'd fitted him into battle gear far different from his usual armor. It was linen shirt, quilted with padding and studded with bits of metal; topped with a sleeveless over-tunic. A sort of shield that was buckled high upon his arm rather than held low by the hand was the only significant piece of metal armor, so unlike what she’d seen most Nohrian warriors wear.

Unlike the billowy top a set of leather-enforced breeches hugged his lower half, emphasized the lines of his lower body in tantalizing ways. Perhaps it was the style of the bottoms and how different it was than anything she'd encountered men wearing at home that had Hinoka thinking so— yet she could’ve sworn to have caught Joker’s eyes lingering there as well. A matched pair of leather boots and gloves finished the ensemble, which overall caused Marx to cut a quite different silhouette from the other outfits she’d seen him wear.

Hinoka’s hands clenched together in her lap when he removed the black circlet. She’d only ever seen him take the crown off to bathe, before sleeping, and when they coupled. After he’d handed the circlet to the butler, his long fingers messily combed blond curls back and gathered the framing tresses away from his face. Joker used a small ribbon to tie Marx’s hair at the base of his skull– barely enough to be called a low tail. A few wayward curls still fell across his face and her fingers itched to reach up to tuck them behind his ears.

Before she’d considered standing, Zola dramatically cleared his throat.

"At my request, Sorceress Nyx graciously brewed a special elixir which will hide all traces of telling gold from the prince’s hair.” With a flourish the mage drew a glass flask full of inky liquid from a pocket inside his cloak and held it aloft for their inspection. “Once this mission is completed, it will be easily reversed unlike dye. May I apply it, Your Highness?"

The Nohrian prince nodded and stooped so that the smaller man could reach to top of his head. The liquid poured from the glass slowly as sticky syrup, and as it covered the crown of Marx's head she spied a shiver run through him. However, the potion proved its magic when it dissolved right into the air. Between one blink and the next the color of Marx's hair changed completely— from blond to black.

Hinoka kept herself from gawking, though barely. Where the darkened strands of his hair caught the light it shone blue like the feathers of a raven's wing. The elixir had effected not only the curls atop his head, but also the stubble, turning it into a 'shadow' upon his face truly. She had to swallow when he blinked deeply; the new color made the fullness of his eyelashes all the more evident.

“You look an entirely new man, my liege.” Zola sounded completely pleased with himself.

Marx’s now dark brow furrowed. “What of my face?”

The mage’s whole frame slumped apologetically. "I would use bits of grain, fat, and some paints to create pockmark scars for a further disguise. However, since you will be fighting and sweating, for more than one day, it would not do to have false scars falling off."

Her husband showed no signs of irritation as he asked, "Can you not cast an illusion on me?"

"I'm afraid dramatic changes make a glamour unstable. The only way I could make it last for more than a bell or two would be if I was somewhere close by and hidden enough for continual castings. As you aim for stealthy infiltration, it’s inadvisable. Sincerest apologies, Your Highness." Zola’s entire demeanor perked up as he drew another flask from his cape. “However, thanks to Nyx’s foresight I do have something for your voice! This potion will change its quality for three days should you drink it.”

Without hesitation Marx took the glass, pulled out its cork, and swallowed its contents in one gulp. His countenance twisted like he’d bitten into a lemon. “That is foul!” The voice that came from his mouth, sounded all wrong— far too high and with an unfamiliar lilt.

Zola clapped, “And the transformation is complete! Now with your permission, Your Highness, I shall proceed to impersonate you.”

Hinoka stood, alarmed by the statement, and sent her husband a confused glance. However, he was looking to the mage as he gave permission with a stranger’s voice. In a puff of glittering smoke Zola’s form was replaced by Marx’s: height, armor, and all. If she hadn’t been in the room the entire time, she liked wouldn’t’ve been able to see the difference.

When the glamoured mage spoke it was with a stolen voice. “Shall we go take a leisurely walk, lady wife?” Rather than extending his elbow in invitation, Zola placed Hinoka’s hand onto the crook of his arm— which she recoiled and stepped away from.

“No, no!” Joker leveled a glare at the false crown prince. “That is not how Prince Marx conducts himself.”

It was surreal to watch her husband’s image roll his eyes. “You dare critique my performance? Rather cheeky of a servant to give his master lip.”

The mage and butler continued bickering, focused on one another, as the disguised prince left. Something Hinoka was thankful for as it let her slip away from them and follow her husband out the anteroom. This section of the guardhouse had been emptied for their use so that none would see any of them leave, which made it easy to spy him walking towards another doorway.

“Wait,” she called out softly.

Marx halted and turned to face her, the serious expression on his face all too recognizable despite the changes to the rest of him. His visible skin was all the paler with his newly blackened hair, almost pallid. His dark eyes watched her approach and when she was within arm’s reach he murmured, “You should not be seen with me like this.”

“You shouldn’t wear the same expression when playing someone else.” She raised her hand and cupped his cheek to accentuate her point, his barely grown beard bristled against her fingers and palm. His mouth twitched into a semblance of a smile, more self-depreciating than genuine.

Hinoka was hit by the urge to go with him, despite the fact that she’d ruin his disguise. This entire mission he’d likely accepted for her safety, but waiting within castle walls wasn’t something she’d have chosen. She was a warrior and her heart would rather take risks alongside him— because then she could protect him in turn.

Her other hand reached up and slipped behind his neck. She rose onto her tiptoes, tugged him down close, and Hinoka touched her lips touched his. It was feather light, this impromptu kiss, but she felt his warmth and tasted the lingering bitterness of the potion on his mouth. He didn't immediately pull back and instead deepened the kiss, much to her delight— but only for a moment. Marx broke away; made enough space to look at her with a flustered expression and questioning eyes.

“For luck,” she answered his unspoken query and silently watched him leave.

After another use of Joker’s warp staff Hinoka allowed Zola the walk he’d requested. Out on the castle grounds where guards, servants, and guests alike could see a facsimile of Nohr’s crown prince walking arm-in-arm with his wife. She understood why it was being done, but hurried them along until they were back inside. Then she gave voice her decision, “Lord Husband, please take me to see your father.”

Although the mage had acted ostentatiously within the guardhouse, here he maintained the serious visage that Marx was likely infamous for. He asked in her husband’s deep voice, “Are you certain, Lady Wife?”

“Yes.” She fought the urge to rip her arm away from the skinny one she felt through the illusion. “I need to speak with King Garon.”

Thankfully the mage didn’t argue or try to forbid her, simply made a show of considering then acquiesced. It was still morning and after an inquiry a castle servant escorted them to the upper ward’s terrace, informing them that the king was still breaking fast. However, the entrance to the terrace was blocked and not by the castle guard, who stood farther off in the hallways.

A single man stood before the terrace doorway, his black hair so limp that it looked greasy. Hinoka had to bite down on the frustration that rose at the sight of him— King Garon’s adviser, Iago.

Before they were even within a pace of him, the sorcerer held up a hand. “Halt. His Majesty is awaiting a meeting, and you are not the scheduled guest.”

Hinoka was tempted to simply bull past the over-adorned sorcerer, but instead politely said, “Forgive my forwardness, Lord Iago, but my husband and I must speak with his father.”

The Nohrian adviser’s visible eye looked to the supposed prince and his expression grew unimpressed. “That is my husband, not yours, Princess Hinoka. And if you wish to speak to his coot of a father, you’ll have to journey down to the catacombs.”

She nearly jumped out of her skin when a loud, jittery laugh escaped the mage beside her— still in Marx’s voice. “Iago, don’t give the game away entirely!”

“Is that why you’re here, to play games?” He tipped his head at Zola and sent a sly smile, one that had Hinoka’s skin crawling. Thankfully it didn’t last long, as Iago turned his face back to her and his expression slid back into boredom. “If you wish for an audience with King Garon, I advise you wait for a proper escort, Princess Hinoka.”

His dismissive tone ignited her temper. She left the imposter behind, strode toward the sorcerer, and said, “If you will not let me through then won’t you offer council, Adviser? I was told of a mission which struck me as dangerous, and this concern is what I wish to speak to the King about. And I believe the plan in question is thanks to you?”

“As the King’s adviser I come up with many plans. Although I do have you and Princess Elise to thank for that particular inspiration.” He admitted, unabashed.

“But sending one fighter out alone is foolhardy!” She snapped in a fit of pique.

Purple painted lips spread in a toothy grin. “And yet the man agreed without question— likely so that wrath wouldn’t fall upon Sumeragi’s daughter who lies to the king’s face so poorly.”

Hinoka felt her stomach drop to her feet. Was that the true reason behind this mission, Marx taking punishment in her place?

“Iago, there’s no need to be so cruel!” Zola hissed between his teeth.

With a scowl, the black-haired man huffed, “I’m simply stating the truth. Just because this girl’s foolish enough to almost get herself killed, doesn’t mean her insubordination should go unpunished. While His Majesty doesn’t raise feckless sons, the oldest is too soft a touch.”

“Ah, what a thing to say. I should cry to be under such a lack of compassion.”

The sorcerer’s eye went wide as he looked past her. Hinoka turn her head and found a woman walking towards the three of them. This newcomer likely would not have been tall without the heeled shoes, or the large and long feather attached to the jeweled band across her forehead which bobbed with every step. Hinoka had to fix her eyes onto the woman’s face to avoid staring at the gauzy dark mage’s outfit and how it clung to her thick limbs, generous hips, and ample breasts. It was the long curls of indigo hair streaked with grey that jogged her memory— she’d briefly met this woman within the walled garden all those weeks ago.

The woman spoke to Zola as she stepped past him, “Hello dear, such a handsome face you wear today.”

Despite his disguise, he bowed to her, “You are a vision of grace as always, my lady.” She tittered, but otherwise didn’t respond.

The indigo haired woman came to a stop before her then primly folded her hands together and leaned toward the Hoshidonese princess, the lace cuffs of her sheer outfit swaying with the movement.

Adviser Iago nervously cleared his throat and then gave a formal introduction. "Princess Hinoka, daughter of Sumeragi and Ikona, wife of Crown Prince Marx, meet First Concubine Dahlia, Lady of high house Dolg, a Seer of the Archest Order."

The woman bowed— but not at the waist. Instead she bent both her knees and dipped down towards the floor with her head respectfully bent. She’d gathered her robe’s gauzy bottom in her hands and barely lifted the skirt in conjunction with the movement. It was a strange but possibly the most elegant bow Hinoka had even witnessed. After she’d nodded her respect in response and the concubine had righted herself, the thought hit her that such a bow was likely to maintain modesty in such low cut, revealing clothing.

There was a pause, then Hinoka realized that they were waiting for her verbal response— as by Nohrian standards to address a social superior following a formal introduction without being acknowledged first was the height of rudeness. In the scramble to remember the precise words from the etiquette lessons, she stuttered, "P-pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Dahlia."

“The pleasure is mine, Your Highness. It is good to speak with you again.” The concubine's plush lips quirked into the same exact subdued smile that Hinoka had seen countless times on Camilla. “My daughter’s letters tell rightly, you have a lovely face. No wonder the babies Marx got on you are so adorable.”

Hinoka managed a thanks, then forced herself to maintain a smile as she said, "Pardon, I... I've not had any children."

Although it was nonsense for anyone to assume she'd had a baby without first becoming pregnant, it brought a concern to the surface of her mind. Regardless of the frequency with which she and Marx had coupled, Hinoka had bled with every other cycle of the moon for the first months she'd been in Nohr. It’d passed a few days before the poison had left her bedridden, and though she hadn’t bled again since Hinoka doubted that it was because she was with child. When she’d consulted Asama as a healer on the matter he’d informed her that difficult times could cause temporary infertility in women— but assured her that there was little chance the poison was to blame as the treatments had been successful. Still, the possibility troubled her.

When Hinoka had still been an adolescent with the betrothal looming in her future, she'd once asked her father about the expectations of bearing heirs. Sumeragi assured her that children would come with time and had instead discussed with her how intimacy within marriage came in many forms. Heirs hadn’t seemed to be the greatest thing of concern, thus as she’d entered adulthood she hadn’t let those expectations occupy her mind— something easily accomplished with plenty of other worries to occupy her. Then Princess Camilla had arrived in Hoshido, and after summer all the court had talked about was her being with child. Here in Nohr it seemed the state of her own womb was already on most everyone's mind, although she’d never heard her husband speak of heirs during her entire time in Nohr.

"Oh?" The feather on her circlet bobbed as Dahlia cocked her head to the side with a confused expression. An awkward moment passed as her gaze went hazy, then suddenly the woman righted with a disquieting burst of laughter. Her eyes were clear again, pink as camellia blossoms, as she said with a wave, "Apologies, dear, I get the now and later mixed up on occasion."

Before The Hoshidonese princess could reply, the Concubine had turned to the Nohrian adviser.

“Now Iago, I know you think of our king first and foremost, but such treatment of a future queen…” Dahlia gave a disappointed sigh. “And I had so hoped to bring only good news back to Her Majesty today.”

“P-please, milady,” The sorcerer was so nervous he looked practically blue in the face. “I only m-meant to offer the princess advice. Asking for an audience without–”

“Ah, yes.” Dahlia abruptly turned back to Hinoka. “Did you wish to speak with King Garon?”

There was an inflection in the woman’s voice that had Hinoka growing flustered. “I- Yes, I do.”

“May I ask why?”

“It’s regarding Prince Marx.”

“Aren’t you sweet to worry over your husband so.” Dahlia brought her folded hands up to her chin. “I am to meet with His Majesty this morning, but I’m certain he will not mind if you drop in unannounced.” She again looked to Iago, “Count to one hundred, then please allow Princess Hinoka onto the terrace.”

The sorcerer didn’t argue, merely stepped aside and opened the door with a bowed head. With a little wave of her fingers the concubine swayed through the doorway and walked out of sight, the heels of her shoes clacking against the stone. When Iago shut the door he looked quite put out, but his glare remained leveled at the floor as his mouth moved soundlessly— it took her a moment to figure out that he was indeed counting.

Camilla’s mother certainly… knew how to get her way. It reminded Hinoka of when the Nohrian princess had first come to Shirazaki and convinced her that they should spend time sewing together— she’d felt like she couldn’t say no, despite her lack of proficiency. She’d come to enjoy that time together, but at first she hadn’t known how to feel. It seemed that Dahlia was just as skilled at keeping others off balance by force of personality alone.

“I’ll wait for you,” Marx’s voice broke through her thoughts but as she looked she realized it was Zola and his illusion speaking, “Out here, Princess Hinoka.”

She nodded and then faced forward so he couldn’t see her mutter under her breath, “Marx needs my support... Keep yourself steady, Hinoka!”

The door clicked open again. She squared her shoulders, drew herself up to her full height, took a fortifying breath, and walked out onto the terrace where Nohr’s king would be waiting.

As she went out onto the terrace and the door shut behind her, voices rung clear in the morning air.

“Ektrina’s been keeping you all to herself of late. Dahlia, it’s hardly fair.”

There was feminine laughter. “Since when did the mighty King Garon claim anything in this life was fair? Your standard of comparison is simply skewed, darling, as you’ve been plenty busy too. But there’s more than enough of me to go around…”

Hinoka’s heart lept into her throat at the idea of stepping in on her father-in-law when he was getting frisky. She nearly stumbled in her haste to stop— but the scuff of her sole against the stone caused the terrace’s occupants to look her way.

"Ah... my King, we have a guest." Dahlia gave another little wave from her seat upon the king’s lap.

"I told Iago-" Garon’s expression was thunderous, but relaxed as he glanced her over. "Now this is most curious."

“Please forgive the intrusion, Your Majesty.” Hinoka bowed, and couldn’t help but divert her gaze in mortification. “I came to request permission to contribute to Prince Marx’s current mission.”

Garon was silent for a long while and she remained bowed during, unsure of how he might react when their last encounter was undoubtedly fresh in his mind. There was the sound of a hand patting cloth then Dahlia’s voice tutted, “Stop tormenting the poor dear. It’s no wonder she’s never come to visit if this boorish reception awaits her.”

A bark of harsh laughter was unmistakable. “Yes, yes. Rise, princess.” Hinoka did as she was bid and found King Garon watching her with a teasing smirk. It was the most casual she had even seen the king of Nohr dressed, in black breeches, boots, and jacket with a lightly colored shirt. There was not a scrap of armor upon him, only the black twisted metal of his crown.

Yet even without the armor or regalia, the man held himself like a king— with confidence that bordered arrogance. It seemed he was content to lean back in the metal chair and allow Dahlia to lounge across him like a sleepy cat. Seeing the two flaunt such casual intimacy under the open sky had her battling an embarrassed blush.

“Well no sense in just standing there.” He gestured to an empty chair across the table from them. “Sit.”

Again Hinoka obeyed, though allowed her eyes to wander away from the concubine and her father-in-law. The metal table was large, but unlike the opulent feast in the great hall wasn't covered in countless dishes. Instead there was only place settings for two, and an appropriate amount of food for such. There were half-emptied platters of eggs scrambled with vegetables, fried potato pancakes, sausage links, and freshly cut fruit. A familiar silver decanter and tea set was also upon the table, an empty cup had a telltale dark stain.

Hard tapping on the table’s surface drew her gaze back up. When her eyes met his, King Garon spoke. “So, my son told you what he’s to do in the coming days?”

She nodded. “Regarding the arena, yes. Prince Marx informed me about his current mission and-”

“Now you want to participate.” Garon’s sharp eyes cut over her. "Gods know that boy doesn't forbid you anything."

She felt a rush of anger heighten the flush on her face. She wanted to yell it was right, that she was more than just Marx's wife. Instead kept her tone even as she said, "He does not forbid. Prince Marx understands that I have my own mind and my own standing, as I did before we were married."

Hinoka knew that this was reckless, showing defiance to a king in his own realm. But she also couldn't afford for Garon to forget that she was first and foremost a person, not some mindless tool. And as a princess of Hoshido, she was a person of power— something that Hinoka was counting on. That the Nohrian king wouldn't want to lose her cooperation, even if he only valued what she might provide.

The stare he had leveled upon her was heavy, she had to take even breaths to keep her heart from starting to race. Slowly the stern line of his mouth spread into a smile. “Marx is in for more than I bargained with you, Princess Hinoka. I doubt you’ll ever stop causing trouble for my son.” By the wide grin and chuckle in his voice, the Nohrian king sounded inordinately pleased by the prospect.

Dahlia clicked her tongue, “I think it’s sweet that she wants to help.” Yet she quieted as King Garon held up a finger, his eyes not leaving the Hoshidonese princess.

“It is good that you wish to aid the kingdom, Princess Hinoka, yet you are not particularly suited to deception.” The look he sent her was pointed; he hadn’t forgot how she’d lied to his face. “What could a person so forthright contribute to such a devious quest?”

“I… I don’t know.” Hinoka clenched her hands to hide their shaking. “I only know that I am tired of hiding behind walls and being nothing but a burden. Please, father-in-law, let me do something.”

Rather than being affronted, the Nohrian king looked satisfied with her answer. “Leo and I are personally seeing that the criminal scourge is stamped from Vindam’s outer ring with the information provided by the Green gang leader. It would be too great a risk to bring such a high priority target along when my son’s planned our strategy so carefully.”

Nohr’s king lowered his hand and looked to the woman in his lap. “Well, Dahlia, the princess has made a pretty entreaty. Have you any ideas?”

An expression curled the concubine’s lips akin to a cat enjoying a bowl of cream. “So generous of Your Majesty to ask. Queen Ektrina always holds a tournament at this time of spring, in honor of the First Queen’s establishment of this city. Unfortunately, circumstances prevent her from attending this year.” They both turned to look at her with calculating eyes. “Princess Hinoka how would you feel to attend as the queen’s proxy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hinoka folding origami comes from [the Hinoka/Tsukuyomi supports](http://jokerthebutler.tumblr.com/post/126999222308/hinokatsukuyomi-support-c-s-rank). I based the magical hair dye on Twilight Gloaming from the FE DLC.
> 
> A big thanks to [Isangma](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Isangma) for BETAing and sticking with me.


	12. Odds In Your Favor - part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some possibly triggering content is in this chapter, enough to where I considered bumping up the overall rating for the fic. If that concerns you, please read [this page](http://damoselceles.dreamwidth.org/5053.html) where the warning is detailed. Know that the trigger listing also acts as mild spoilers for this chapter.
> 
> Originally posted 6/28/2016.

Vindam’s arena was modeled after Markas’ coliseum, although was smaller in scale and less extravagant in the variety of its entertainment. Its current practices weren’t nearly as bloodthirsty compared to ages past, when captives would be forced to fight one another to the death. Arena fighting now was more for sport to display fighting prowess, with healers on staff to ensure that causalities were kept to a minimum. On occasion it hosted events such as the current tournament, where tickets for seating were made free to the general public and any that could find a patron had a chance to compete.

With his disguise, the crown prince of Nohr had passed himself off as a sell sword interested in the tournament solely for the victor's purse. He’d been a last-moment addition and for the arena’s entrance fee had put up a bag of cut and polished emeralds, of middling grade so as not to attract scrutiny. Marx had won the qualifying battles with no trouble, the ease was such that he wondered if the initial competitors had been bought off somehow. Yet he found similar weaknesses in later fights; the majority of entrants were a motley bunch who had little in the way of proper training and likely improvised in actual combat in order to survive. While some of high birth and formal knighthoods could grow predictable in strict tradition, they would’ve been better drilled with counters to the more telegraphed of his strikes.

Regardless he’d made it through the preliminaries of one-on-one battles and onto the majority of the tournament fought beside a battle partner. It was intended that the matchups be drawn by lots and thus random. However, rigging the system through bribes had been going on for many years— and allowed for Marx to be matched with the Red Horns’ prize fighter.

Rather than going to the official table to receive his lot, he went to the pre-arranged meeting place, to find their agent who’d infiltrated the gang.

In the place was one man, who had the rough look about him like most of the tournament entrants but otherwise didn’t stand out apart from the dark red half-cloak about his shoulders. He stared at the sky while smoking a pipe and didn’t even glance Marx’s way when he approached and sat down beside him on the bench. Instead, the cloaked man asked, “Whaddaya think of the weather t’day?”

Marx responded, “Could do with some rain.”

At these scripted words the man, their agent, put out his pipe. He tucked it away and drew out an official Arena lot, holding it out while looking Marx in the face. Having exchanged the appropriate code phrases, they could get down to business.

Marx took the lot and gave his assigned name. “Call me Xander.”

“A fancy man’s name.” The agent showed smoke-yellowed teeth in a crooked smirk. “I’m Cyke. I land’d this job cause I got ‘nough patience fer the prize fighter, an’ does she ever wear it thin.” He rolled his eyes. “She’s good at winnin’ fights, so Ganz likes her. B’ she’s a spoil’d brat wit’ a mean temper. She’s got spendy habits too, tho’ her high house ‘as less money thanna two-copper whore.”

Marx wondered what a woman of good breeding was doing participating in the arena’s fighting tournaments. He asked, “She’s a noblewoman?”

“Highborn, b’ noble?” Cyke snorted. “Wha goodza title when ya’re dirt poor as any peasant? Wit’ no money, crazy gets call’d fer wha it is.”

“Is she simply fighting for the winner’s purse?”

The agent looked a bit sheepish as he said, “S’not that simple. Her family us’d t’ ‘ave land, horses, the works. Somethin’ happen’d an’ they ‘ad t’ sell it all. Mov’d ‘ere t’ the city. All I know fer sure, Lord Vashvil’s deep ‘n debt t’ the Red Horns so the money Pieri wins goes in’t Ganz’s pocket.”

Vashvil: it wasn’t a name that brought anything immediate to Marx’s mind. It was likely a high house that was either very old and had fallen onto hard times, or had lost favor when newly appointed and had quickly become impoverished. Either way, the family wasn’t one of the current power players in Nohr’s court if its heir was occupying her time fighting in the arena and likely couldn’t afford to attend the high court in season if they were truly destitute.

Cyke abruptly stood from the bench and motioned for him to do the same. “C’mon, the tourney starts soon an’ I gotta introduce ya t’ her. Ya’re pretty ‘nough, she’ll take a shine t’ ya.”

Pieri of house Vashvil was a force of nature on the arena floor.

She had whirled, her lance meeting the weapons of the adversary with a clang, again and again. From the jubilant cries and constant smile, close combat must've been a thrill to her. No matter how many times they’d gone out to fight, the woman had launched herself at their opponents with the ferocity of a charging bull— energy and eagerness seemingly without end.

Marx had found the combat more of a task. Once the rush of struggle and victory had passed, he’d felt more worn each time. And waiting away from center stage proved to offer little respite.

The Nohrian prince had been nearly alarmed at how cruelly healing staffs were wielded in the backstage of the arena. Their magic was applied as a matter of course, to those nearly maimed and those barely scratched alike— all so they'd be in adequate condition for the next fight. At first he'd thought they were making sure to take care of the investments with the fighters. Yet as the night wore into early morning, he realized it was more to make it so that there was no need to stop the tournament. As the night had passed and next morning dawned in full, Marx’d found himself hungry and weary from the lack of rest. They’d been fighting all along with only the downtime between rounds to find a flat surface and get off one’s feet.

Regardless they’d made it to semi-finals and it was currently between rounds. So he’d stripped armor and cloth from his upper body into order to wipe himself off with a damp towel before the Arena’s healer made her rounds. It wouldn’t do to have any of sand or grit lodged into cuts and risk infection when the staff’s magic sealed the wounds. He’d also sustained a hard strike across the back in the last fight which had left the inflicted arena with an aching throb and he wanted it checked.

“Xander, Xander! Pieri can see the healer coming.” His battle partner fairly shouted.

The ruffles of her skirt and bonnet bow bounced alongside her twin tails as she turned from waving her hands over her head to facing him in full. She was a fidgety woman. Since they'd been introduced her fingers had drummed, or foot tapped, or entire body had spasmed with impatience when they weren’t out on the Arena floor. Her gaze similarly wandered. Pieri studied the cut of his jaw far too closely to claim any subtlety. The woman's visible eye roamed over his shoulders and chest with an appreciation he typically reserved only for fine steel. Marx pointedly cleared his throat when her gaze started to dip blatantly lower.

Once her gaze snapped to his face, he said, “Pieri, are you sure you don’t need to remove any clothing? I can help with the buttons at the back, then turn so you have privacy-”

“Xander’s so polite!” She giggled, eyelashes fluttering flirtatiously. “But Pieri’s fine, fine. Pieri’s armor is heavier than yours so Pieri gets less boo-boos.”

He sighed an agreement. While the weight of the gambeson was hardly noticeable compared to his normal plate and mail, it also didn't deflect blows in the same way. Marx had taken care to approach opponents more carefully, but last round’s woman wielding a club had surprised him with her speed and he’d been foolish enough to momentarily expose his back.

“Hey. Who’s next?”

The Arena’s healer, a middle aged woman who appeared to have training as a rod knight, stood with her arms crossed while she looked at them with impatience. With a whoop Pieri declared that she would be first, and stood with a smile as the staff’s magic glowed over her. Once his battle partner had moved aside, he stepped up. Before the rod knight could ply her craft he held up a hand and said, “I want you to check my back first.”

The woman grumbled but told him to turn around. Marx almost regretted his request as she jabbed at the tender flesh hard enough that he had to bite down grunts of pain. However, she told him to turn again and said, “There’s swelling and bruising but I don’t feel any broken bones. You’ll be fit enough with some healing magic.”

Without waiting for a reply she raised the staff and its crystal’s glow engulfed Marx. There was neither gentleness nor care in the healing magic driven into his taxed body, but instead burned its way through in an overzealous rush. So intense was the discomfort that he drew breath through gritted teeth by the time the magic withdrew. Preceding this mission, the crown prince of Nohr might've never guessed that staffwork could be so painful for the patient.

“Could you hazard a warning?” He snapped at the woman, his irritation clear.

Marx wasn’t sure if it was the strange strain of feeling both tired and energized at once, but he didn’t react in time to avoid having his face harshly clocked by the staff's butt. He heard Pieri gasp but mostly tasted the metallic tang as blood filled his mouth. Although the ache in his back had dulled, he felt a sharp pain of a split lower lip as he grimaced.

“Since you don’t like the healing, I’ll leave you as is.” The abhorrent rod knight sneered at him, then strutted off. Completely unaware that she had just struck a dragon blooded highborn and signed her own death warrant.

His battle partner looked distraught as she hovered before him. “Oh! That’s some ouchie! Would you like Pieri to kiss it better?”

Pieri wasn’t a particularly tall woman, yet he also wouldn’t be able to tuck her under this chin if she came closer. She would not have to raise herself onto tiptoes and have him bend down in order to reach his mouth. Her lips were thin and wide set, rather than lush and small like a rosebud. All these facts made the idea of being kissed by her perturbing to Marx.

So he stepped back with a shake of his head. “No, I’d rather you not.”

Her expression turned into a fierce pout. “So uptight! Pieri is Xander’s partner, you shouldn’t push Pieri away.”

He required time to think of a good excuse, and tried to buy it by redressing. Thankfully she took the hint and with a huff began to don her own set of armor. Although he needed a solution for the problem at hand, Marx found his mind occupied by a different conundrum.

The night before last his wife had asked him to hold her. He’d wrapped his arms about her, and she’d felt so small with how completely her frame tucked into his. With her in his embrace he’d recalled how light she’d felt the times he’d carried her to their room for bedrest. He knew he shouldn’t think her frail, but it made him overly conscious of his own strength and size… and how that difference could be troubling.

He couldn’t forget that terrible day. How he’d lost his temper, how he’d forced her to endure his anger by cornering her, and how Hinoka had looked at him with fear in her eyes when she couldn’t push him away. Those actions were damning for the loss of self-control, for lashing out at a person he was meant to protect, let alone alongside the fact that immediately afterwards she’d then had no choice but to rely upon that frightening, angry man. It’d caused Marx to wonder, ever since, just what she thought of him.

Even still he caught himself fantasizing about her. He couldn’t even quite say when it began. Not that first night, nor even the night after that. But sometime during that spring season, he’d started to realize how very desirable he found Hinoka. How warm her skin was, how clear her eyes were of deceit, how kind her touch for all the fierceness held in her body. Noticing such things had led to...wanting things.

He was her husband, she was his wife, and there were expectations that’d have certain sorts of people to saying wrongs could not be done. The possibility of forcing his wants onto another who couldn’t refuse left Marx feeling hollow, and had planted a seed of doubt that refused to be rooted out. What if he allowed himself to be blinded by desire? What if he lost control again? Would he even realize if he hurt her?

It’d seemed safer to do as he’d done all his life. Stifle any wants and maintain distance to lessen risks. Yet it was difficult, almost painful, when she was so close in reach. Every time she sought him out he questioned if it was for her own sake, or for his. He’d never have guessed he could feel so uncertain after accepting a role.

He tugged the glove onto his left hand, covering the gold ring which he’d grown so accustomed to wearing that he often forgot its presence. Finally, there was nothing more for him to don. So he told Pieri the truth for why he’d rebuffed her advances, “…my wife would not approve of me kissing other women.”

“Oh, Pieri didn’t know!” She sounded surprised, but there was a canny look in her eye. “A jealous wife who doesn’t like to share, hm? Is she the reason you joined the tournament?”

He’d agreed to Iago’s mission for Hinoka’s sake. So that she might be able to walk the city without fear for her life. Marx would destroy the Red Horns and keep her safe. He refused fail in this.

“Yes. I must win for her sake.”

“Xander is a secret romantic,” the woman giggled. “We win this round and Xander will be healed up so his lucky wife can kiss him proper!”

They overcame the archer and armored knight pair with minimal injury. Fortunate, as the final match took place almost immediately afterwards with only the barest of staffwork. When they and their opponents went out onto the arena floor, the audience fairly roared— every seat filled and then some. Despite the day being half over, it seemed that many had skipped out on work to watch the last rounds of Vindam’s spring tournament.

A hush went over the crowd as trumpets abruptly sounded from the royal podium.

“Huh?” His battle partner looked up in confusion. “Pieri thought no one was up there?”

Marx made a noise of agreement. He’d been under the impression that his mother couldn’t attend the tournament this year despite holding the position of founding patron. As this event was to honor First Queen Anya it was tradition for a woman of the royal family to be at its head; with Camilla gone and Elise not yet of age, he was unsure who Ektrina would permit to act as her proxy.

The curtains at the front of the podium’s canopy slid open and even with the arena's tiered seating filled to capacity, the royal seats upon the podium were clearly visible— it was located in too prominent a position not to be. Marx took a quick intake of breath as a head of strikingly red hair came into view. It was undoubtedly Hinoka in the seat of honor, visually presiding over the tournament itself.

The woman beside him gasped. “Ooooh, this is the first time the crown prince and his bride have been outside the castle together since the wedding parade. Pieri is so excited!”

 _"You jealously keep the Hoshidonese princess locked up in your castle.”_ Ashura’s words echoed her sentiments and pricked Marx’s conscience— he really had been keeping his wife hidden away. It was a wonder she’d only snuck out once.

His battle partner must’ve noticed the way his eyes lingered upon the royal podium. She leaned in and spoke in a conspiratory whisper, "Nobody sees anyone come or leave those seats. Pieri bets they travel by magic."

He knew of the private tunnels to and from the royal podium which allowed for travel separate from the general audience. Marx said nothing. Better that people thought as she did than know the truth and possibly attempt something.

Hinoka was speaking, but at this distance her voice was faint to his ears and he could not make out the words. It was likely a scripted speech, about the tournament and congratulations to the fighters. A part of Marx's mind fixated upon the false image of himself beside his wife and the urge to remove him, although it was irrational as he knew Zola was merely playing a part. Thankfully, Hinoka’s speech quickly ended and she took her seat, so Marx was able to quiet such thoughts and focus his attention back onto the task at hand.

Their next opponents stood across the arena floor from them, and had a similar dynamic to their last match— melee and range. He glanced to the woman beside him and she grinned before nodding towards her intended target.

The moment the horn for the match to begin blared, Pieri moved. The larger of their opponents tried to match her, but she surged forward with posture low and strides that ate up the ground. When she was upon them the man swung his axe— and fell for Pieri’s feint. She rocked out of the weapon’s path then used the length of the lance’s shaft to catch one of his legs and trip him. Knowing she had the axeman handled, Marx shifted his gaze and focused on their remaining opponent.

With most fighters he'd faced in the arena Marx had the advantages of reach, strength, and bulk. However, in terms of speed and avoidance the smaller bodied had the upper hand. The man currently across from him fit this description: frame lithe and stature smaller. Most dangerously was that he had the advantage of attacking from afar. Since the match had begun, the man hadn’t tried to approach but rather had backed away further— Marx realized the mage had been reading the open tome the entire time.

A crackling ball of energy manifested and burst into many forking thunderbolts with a thunderous crash and flash almost too bright to look upon. Marx rolled far enough away to avoid the blinding magic. However, the electrical arcs caught the metal plates of Pieri's armor and caused the woman to shriek with pain, audible over the sudden roar of the watching crowd. Despite the tome’s outer binding there was no way a spell so potent could've originated from a simple thunder tome. That mage had to be wielding an illegitimate weapon in this final match. Marx blinked hard against the sparks of light left floating in his vision as he searched for his opponent.

When he spied the spellcaster, their opponent’s hands were already twisting in complex motions over the opened tome, and the air began to hum. Marx immediately charged hoping to interrupt the casting, for while his mental fortitude was strong enough to withstand a direct spell or two— it was better to avoid such harmful magic altogether. However, the other combatant realized his aim and had been able to shove Pieri down in order to intercept him.

The axeman was a large, with a height that matched his own and even more bulk, he would not simply be able to bull by… but he wouldn’t have to.

The sword the arena had granted Marx was far different from the larges blades he favored for use on horseback, heavy enough to punch through armor. The weapon was short and not the standard straight tip but a curved edge that was dulled. The make of the sword was light enough to cut through the air quickly, and the way it hooked at the base meant he could more easily catch an opponent’s weapon and disarm them.

Marx tightened his grip upon the sword’s hilt then with one quick lunge, he'd twisted the weapon between his opponent's hands, yanked, and sent the axe clattering across the ground. It surprised the fighter enough that Marx was able to bring the pommel hard against his temple and drop him. The crowds cheered, a distracting din. He turned back to the mage it was too late— the ball of energy had formed and burst.

He barely avoided biting down on his tongue as the spell coursed through him, and caused his muscles to lock up until it felt like his body would rip itself apart. A gasp escaped him as the magic abruptly abated, and his knees hit the ground when his body relaxed. Marx opened his eyes and found that his battle partner had engaged the enemy, forcing the mage to cease casting in order to dodge her wild strikes.

Suddenly she moved as quick as striking snake, managed to pierced the lance’s tip through the tome pages and spine then ripped it from his grasp.

"Cheater!" Pieri screamed.

She threw the entire motion of her body into swinging her lance and its shaft connected with their opponent's head. He turned sharply with the motion and even over the din of the crowds there was stomach-churning crack. The mage fell to the ground, head twisted at an unnatural angle.

Pieri flipped her lance, her intent to stab the fallen man clear— but Marx had regained his feet and grabbed the weapon in time to prevent it. They wrestled for control of the lance, and this close he saw that tears blackened by the heavy kohl lining her eyes ran down her face. Marx shouted over her wailing, “The man is down, Pieri, stop!”

“Cheat!” She yelled but didn’t look at him, gaze instead locked onto the fallen mage. “Cheater cheater cheatercheatercheatercheat-”

Abruptly her mouth moved without sound then her movement ceased— she was frozen in place.

Marx nearly bowled her over with the suddenness of the change, but managed to kept both of them upright. Once he was sure she’d be steady, he glanced about the arena floor and spied the rod knight lowering staff tipped with crystal clusters while holding a blue, fanned rod in her other hand.

He dipped his head in gratitude. “You have my thanks.”

The rod knight clicked her tongue, “Just doing what I’m paid for. You drag her out of here and clean up before the prizes are awarded.” Then she walked towards the mage’s body while giving them a dismissal.

Marx did as he was told, ignoring the displeased noises from the audience and hefting his battle partner’s frozen body off the floor and out of the ring. Once they were out of sight he carefully worked the lance from her stiff fingers and handed it over to the arena attendants alongside his sword. Further back a bench with a small basin of tepid water and cleaning cloths had been provided, so he got to work.

After dusting the sand off the both of them, he dipped one of the cloths and cleaned Pieri’s face, careful to remove the blackened tear tracks while not smearing her makeup further. As he worked the woman’s body began to quiver until the staff’s magic released her completely. Marx helped her remain on her feet then allowed her to stand on her own once the shivering had subsided.

Although her hands clung to his gambeson as he moved back, the woman nearly trying to hide her face in it. Gently he uncurled her fingers and made space between them, asking, “Pieri, is something wrong?”

“Pieri’s sorry, Xander.” She finally turned her face up and tears streaked more kohl down her cheeks. “So sorry, sorry, sorry…”

He wiped the wetted cloth over her face and cleaned the black again. “Are you alright?”

The woman shrugged, mouth pouting. “Pieri has a bad temper and that spell really hurt.”

Marx frowned. “I think you killed that man.”

“Pieri’s sorry…” Her visible eye grew wide and tears gathered again.

He held back a sigh and handed the cloth over to Pieri; wetting the other, he saw to wiping off his own face. Pieri actions might have disqualified them from being granted victory, and if they lost the Red Horns leader might not summon her back. Marx did not allow frustration to build, instead he focused on that fact that it would be Hinoka’s decision who was crowned the tournament champions— and she understood the stakes.

Soon after he’d finished cleaning, an arena official bid them to follow and led the two of them up into the seating. The audience’s ill mood seemed to have been dispelled instead offering congratulations as the passed or a flower in admiration, the latter of which his battle partner happily collected. Once the podium was in clear sight, the arena attendant bid them to make their own way.

When the two of them approached the royal podium and Marx felt his breath catch as the shadows of the canopy no longer hid the occupants.

Hinoka wasn’t clad in her usual Hoshidonese clothing, of kimono or tenma warrior uniform, but a gown of Nohrian style and a daring one at that. The gleam of polished onyx studded the halter that covered her neck modestly, yet apart from the neckline the top left the majority of her shoulders and arms bared. The cut of the bodice emphasized the small of her waist, while the gown's softly pleated skirt ended just over her ankles— revealing that she wore high heeled shoes. The entire ensemble was a green dark enough that it could be easily mistaken for black from afar, and was not made from velvet or other heavy fabrics favored at high court but lighter cottons and linens appropriate for the late spring weather.

As Hinoka attended in proxy for the Queen of Nohr it was logical that she would dress in this manner... but he'd never seen her in his peoples' fashion before, and Marx felt a little awestruck over the result. He hardly paid attention as a glamored Zola set a victor’s wreath atop his bent head. Instead he watched from the corner of his eye as Pieri bowed her head and Hinoka leaned forward in order to bestow the crown of roses. Marx couldn't look away as the action revealed that her gown not only exposed a great deal of her shoulders but was also backless. Hinoka wore no jewelry apart from the gleaming gold ring around her left-hand finger, the sight of it had him feeling the weight of his own ring beneath his glove.

The princess straightened until she stood tall and proud, then announced in a voice loud and clear, “In honor of the First Queen, I, Princess Hinoka of Hoshido, wife of Crown Prince Marx, grant these two warriors the title of champion!”

Pieri’s face split in a jubilant smile, she turned at once to face the now cheering crowd and raised both hands to wave enthusiastically. Marx forced himself to stop staring at his wife and her new gown to do likewise. He felt exhausted, but also relieved in that he hadn’t yet failed.

After receiving the victor’s wreaths, they were ushered out of the arena, likely to avoid from being caught in the audience which would be permitted to exit once the royal spectators had departed. Pieri’s mood had been buoyed by the victory and she nearly skipped like a child beside him, holding her bouquet of flowers and still wearing the crown of roses. It made Marx wonder at her energy which seemed to be without reserve; he looked forward to some undisturbed time sleeping.

However, a different matter was at the forefront of his mind, he hadn’t seen any sign of their agent— and the two of them had already put a good distance between themselves and the arena.

“Where is your keeper?”

Pieri spun and gave a cheery smile. “Cyke must’ve brought the prizemoney to Pieri’s patron. We won so he’ll want to see us, just follow Pieri!”

Upon exiting the arena, they had not been handed purses of coin as Pieri had a keeper it had been given instead to Cyke. Since Marx had presented the coin as Xander’s goal he couldn't walk away without it and not raise suspicions. He'd have to accompany her and trust that different agents were tailing them.

Pieri did not lead him to the slums of Vindam's outer ring, where it was canvas tents atop the compacted stone buildings with too narrow alleyways in place of roads, and people were crowded like chattle in too small pens. Instead Marx followed her into the city's inner circle, where buildings had space between them and merchant's stalls were tidily set up along the cobblestone streets. Yet they did not stop in the main plaza where beggars and carts of seasonal goods were fixtures amidst the bustle, but turned down one of the many side streets and then wound further and further back.

Finally, they took a turn and Pieri pointed, declaring their destination. Marx made sure to express no surprise as he glanced around at their surroundings. In this district the brick-based buildings had overhanging gabled roofs covered by brightly-painted slate tiles, but most notably rough timber built up the higher stories. Only the truly wealthy could afford to construct their buildings with wood in Vindam, the multiple quarries that surrounded the city made masonry based architecture much more affordable.

They climbed onto a porch, the gilded lettering of the building’s wooden sign read ‘The Kitten and Rooster’. Pieri rapped her knuckles against the red painted door, and a peep hole slid open to a narrowed pair of eyes which landed on Marx first but then drifted to the woman. A voice muffled through the wood, "Hey, Pieri. The boss is waiting for you in his room.”

The peep hole shut and there was the sound of multiple locks being undone before the door swung open, the big woman behind the door stepping aside to grant them entrance.

Smoke hazed the air inside and didn’t smell of tobacco, but rather like the lounges in Markas where poppy caused the patrons to lay about in stupors. The room was illuminated by only a few flickering candles and all the windows were shuttered tightly. Most telling were the people within the room, shady individuals who sat in chatting clusters with women and men in various states of undress gathered about them. Marx's brow furrowed at how young some of the workers appeared, far too young for a house of pleasure. But he forced himself keep pace as Pieri quickly walked through the room, up a few flights of stairs, then down a hallway. Strangely, they walked past many doors to stand in the hall’s dead end.

The twin-tailed woman, peered at him from over her shoulder with an hesitant smile— odd since she'd never hesitated since the moment he'd met her. “Here, Xander, time to meet Pieri’s patron!”

At the press of her fingers to a notch in the wall a section of the wood panel swung open like a half-door. They'd have to crouch to in order to enter. Part of him was wary of going deeper into this underbelly, yet to turn back empty handed— he could not abide. So Marx steeled himself, and ducked into the hidden room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xander was the cover name cooked up for this mission, his actual given name will always be Marx in AMOS verse.
> 
> Some [sketches](http://damoselcastel.tumblr.com/post/146689584101/some-sketches-of-hinokas-gown-from-into-a-walled) and [fanart](http://yzderia.tumblr.com/post/146860815033/took-a-break-from-work-because-posing-a-character) for Hinoka's gown.
> 
> The name "the kitten and rooster" I lifted from the Dreamfall chapter of the Longest Journey game, and in the origin material it’s not so unsavory of an establishment.


	13. Odds In Your Favor - part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some possibly triggering content is in this chapter, enough to where I considered bumping up the overall rating for the fic. If that concerns you, please read [this page](http://damoselceles.dreamwidth.org/5053.html) where the warning is detailed. Know that the trigger listing also acts as mild spoilers for this chapter.
> 
> Originally posted 6/28/2016, revised 4/8/2017.

It took a moment for Marx’s eyes to adjust and be able to see the chamber they’d entered. Instead of lanterns lit by magic or torches lamps with burning wicks illuminated the room, just barely. Other than the secret door there appeared to be no other openings, not even windows. The men who filled the low couches had an even worse look to them than the ones downstairs. Velvet wallpaper and gilded furniture decorated the room a tacky display of wealth, undoubtedly ill-gotten. A large fur rug covered most of the wooden floor, and he had to bite back a grimace when he realized that it was the pelt of a Garou shifter. Yet over its taxidermied head, he could see the faintest glow of divine energy.

Before he could attempt to get closer and confirm that it was a node of dragon’s vein, Pieri brightly announced, “We’re here!”

At her announcement, one of the criminals stood up. This stranger had an imposing figure, his torso broad and limbs thick with muscle. The man's head was shaved bald, while a neatly trimmed beard covered his chin. Much of his scarred skin was bared by a berserker's uniform of leather, metal, and fur; the lattermost dyed the royal hue of purple. When he stepped towards them it was with a swagger that implied the entire world was his to trod upon.

The way the rest of the room’s occupants looked to him— the stranger was undoubtedly the leader of the Red Horns.

The criminal bellowed, "There's my girl! Splitting skulls and taking names, just like I taught you."

She giggled, somewhat nervously. "Mister Ganz, papa taught Pieri how to fight, not you!"

“Ah, but you make me feel like a proud father.” Ganz’s wink at her was hardly paternal. “Champion of single combat, and now you've taken the title for the paired tournament! Why it's almost enough to pay off your dear papa's debt.” Pieri’s smile grew strained at his words, but the criminal’s gaze turned from her to Marx. “And who’s this?”

She perked up. “This is Xander, he helped Pieri win the tournament!”

“Xander, eh?” There was something uncomfortably smug about Ganz’s expression. “Boys, what do we think of that name?”

“Tha’s a highborn’s name if I e’er heard one!” One of the group called out, and the rest muttered agreements.

The tension that’d filled the room was building, and it made Marx want to shift his weight into a readier stance. But the way that the eyes of the criminals had locked onto him, they were likely waiting for such an excuse to strike at him. He instead concentrated on keep his breathing even and watching them in turn.

“What’s wrong with that?” Pieri looked about with a creased brow. “Pieri’s highborn-”

The gang leader interrupted, "Go home and see your papa, Pieri my girl. I'd like to talk with your partner privately."

A puzzled expression came onto her face, "But Xander needs to go home too. His wife will be waiting-"

Ganz was looking only at Marx as he said, "I'll only ask nicely twice. Go home."

Pieri sent a nervous glance at Marx but quickly moved to the doorway. As she ducked down, she turned then gave a little wave. "Bye bye, Xander. Pieri hopes to see you again!"

The moment the wall’s panel clicked shut the previously lounging men surged up and lunged at him.

He had no weapon to draw, so Marx grabbed the small end-table nearest him— jabbed its leg into the gut of the first man who charged him and then broke the flimsy furniture over the head of the next. There were too many. The time spent fighting in the arena had worn him thin, left him tired and weak. He might lose the fight to continue as he was, but the dragon’s vein could turn the battle. After he threw down the next attacker Marx turned to make for the pelt’s head— the gang leader stepped directly in his path to the faintly glowing node.

Only those with dragon blood could perceive the presence of a dragon’s vein, so the criminal was likely trying to pen him into the middle of the room and keep every side open for attack. If he could simply get the man to move, he could still make it. With that in mind, Marx balled his fist and threw a hard punch that would move the obstacle.

He was reckless in his swing, and realized too late that despite his opponent’s heavy build that the gang leader moved quickly. Ganz avoided the blow with a leap— one that landed his knee squarely against Marx's face. Awareness was overtaken by the pain that burst behind his eyes, and a crunch echoed through his skull as his nose was broken. The lapse was enough that when hands came upon him he hadn't immediately thrown them off, and in that heartbeat he was overcome.

Many hands took hold of him, arms locked around his, and forced him down onto his knees with cruel holds, but Marx didn't cry out at the pain of having his limbs twisted, didn't give them the satisfaction. More hands came upon him, knocked the wreath off his head, twisted into his hair to yank his head back, pried open his jaw to stuff his mouth full of foul rag which was then tied in place with a gag.

Marx had to breathe through his broken nose, his inhales were quick with the combined pain of it and that which radiated from his restrained arms. The angle forced by the hand fisted in his hair caused him to look up— directly at the criminal who stood with the smuggest of grins upon his face.

"Did you really believe you had the Red Horns fooled? I was simply thinking of poor Pieri's feelings. It's so hard being betrayed by someone you've taken a liking to. For example-"

The gang leader snapped fingers and another criminal slung a bag open— its rough weave crusted with blood. Out of it dropped a severed head, which rolled across the floor only to stop at Ganz’s feet. Marx recognized the face of their agent.

"I was so disappointed in Cyke. He actually thought that the Scalelies were enough of a distraction to talk to the king’s men right under my nose. I didn't stop him from setting up that tournament partner for Pieri though. Was curious to see who they’d send— imagine my surprise when it was the Crown Prince himself, haired dyed as dark as a Hoshidan's!"

Marx heard laughter behind him as the criminal with a hand tangled in his hair gave it a twist harsh enough to make his eyes sting.

The gang leader carelessly kicked the head away and began to pace. “Y'know many days I find that I'm the real king of this city. People, low and high, have problems and who do they come to? Ganz! I fix problems. I feed people. I give them work. I give them what they want. And right now what they’re throwing coin at is the problem of your marriage.”

Anger and fear churned in Marx’s gut, like too much strong drink, nearly intoxicating in the rush that accompanied the emotions. He did his best to squeeze them down... until he had an opportunity to unleash the rush. The Nohrian prince could only seethe, silent, and wait.

"I told Her Ladyship that a boy who was pure as driven snow at four-and-twenty years wasn't likely to get it up, marriage bed be damned!" The criminal paused in speech and motion to shake his head. "Although if you had lain with a wench on occasion, the old biddies would've been busy trying to get you between their daughters' legs instead of taking contracts up with me."

Ganz leaned at the waist to look Marx directly in the eye.

"You see, Prince, that wife of yours has so many smallclothes in a twist. These patriots have come to me begging to prevent a child of the enemy from usurping the throne! They're only thinking what's best for Nohr." He straightened and paced again. "If you'd just let the lornviper’s venom do its work, if that chit had died, this would've wrapped up nice and neat. She's easily replaced, I doubt a celibate like yourself would've missed her at all!"

Marx hated this man. Hated that his attitude was shared by others in his kingdom. It roused resentment in his heart and caused his blood rush in anticipation of a fight. He glared up at the criminal, as defiantly as he could.

Ganz barked out a laugh. "Oh, hit a nerve did I? Like that tight little box of hers, eh? I guess Ladyship White was right after all. Hoshido is plowing the royal family, the bloodline will be tainted. Can't have that now can we?”

From the corner of his eye, Marx watched as another criminal darted over to the gang leader and placed shears into his hand.

"Though that brother of yours will likely just take your place and get the Hoshidan broodmare fat with babies… Still I'm sure many high houses will send me gifts of thanks for turning the dreaded crown prince from a prized stud into a gelding."

Panic rose, cold and cutting, in his chest and Marx let it fuel his renewed struggle. Despite the shaking in his twisted limbs, Marx surged up— or tried to. The many hands on him secure and successfully kept him pinned. Regardless he struggled, his heartbeat pounded and breathing sped, but the hands on him kept their cruel holds, kept him from rising to fight. Ganz watched him with a grin and opened his mouth— the secret door swung open before the man could say anything more.

A head of blue-and-pink hair poked through the opening, Pieri looked about the room with a wide eye. When her gaze locked with Marx’s, it stayed on him as she stepped through the doorway in full and moved further into the room.

Ganz appeared flabbergasted. “You daft girl, what are you doing here?”

Pieri never stopped shuffling across the floor even as she answered in a hoarse voice. “I… I forgot something.”

Something was off. Marx saw the suspicious shift in Ganz’s expression as the gang leader turned his body towards her. His tone was accusatory, “Did you now?”

She simply nodded, visible eye glancing away. In that moment Ganz lashed out a hand and grabbed one of Pieri’s twin tails— only to pass right through. With that contact, or rather lack thereof, the illusion was broken. It was not the prizefighter who stood in the room but the Hoshidonese princess.

One of the criminal’s grip upon him went slack with shock, and Marx took advantage to throw his weight and kick the man’s feet out from under him. He didn’t get much farther as the other thugs reacted and pinned his shifted form down on the floor, one even stomping upon his extended leg. But it had created a distraction and it was enough.

Quick as a pouncing cat, Hinoka had darted under Ganz’s grasping hands and reached the pelt’s head. Marx felt the blood in his own veins spark as her amber eyes shone bright as starlight. There was a terrible noise from above.

The timbers supporting the roof shook violently as holes were torn open and heavy tiles rained down. The criminals who held him were struck hard by the slate tiles, and those that weren’t scrambled away to avoid being crushed like their comrades. In that moment he was able to throw himself out of the thugs’ reach, dragged beaten body until he was crouched beside Hinoka, and worked at the knot in the gag.

Ganz too had stumbled away, all the way back to the open panel in the wall. A large gash on his scalp bled copiously and the face that’d been so smug looked suddenly terrified. “You… y-you, devil woman!”

Hinoka stood with one bare foot planted on the pelt’s head in clear threat, while her arms were up and hands out in front of her as was the custom of unarmed Hoshidonese brawlers in anticipation of a fight. Her expression wasn’t angry but calm as she said, “You are wrong. My family was founded on a covenant with the Dawn Dragon, I am blessed. If any of you dare to incur more of the gods’ wrath, then come at me.”

These men hadn’t feared laying their hands upon the Nohrian prince, confident in the advantage of their numbers. Yet before the foreign princess who had thinned their ranks by over half a dozen with one attack, they quailed as if a goddess of war stood before them. Miraculously, none of the debris had harmed Marx— but such was the nature of a dragon’s vein. Obeying the will of the dragon blooded and bringing the impossible to reality, the divine right.

Finally, Marx was able to take off the gag and spit out the rag. He spoke loudly and fed their fear. “You all have already struck the gods’ chosen and drawn the Dusk Dragon’s eye. Surrender yourselves to proper execution or the Devil come for your souls.”

“N-No!” One of the standing criminals cried and sprinted out of the room.

And with that movement what remaining morale crumbled, thugs deserting their leader in order to escape as quickly as they could. Ganz yelled at them to stop, but was only able to force one to obey by grabbing onto his cloak. He demanded, “There’s only two of them, why are you running?!”

The man wailed, “Dusk Dragon take you!” Then slipped out of the article and away.

Dumbfounded Ganz looked at the abandoned cloak in his hand and then to the royals. Fear was still bright in his eyes, but his expression twisted with uglier emotions. He backed out the doorway as he hissed, “Don’t think this is over.”

Once he was through the panel slammed shut. The scrape of something heavy being dragged reverberated through the wall before quiet descended. Undoubtedly, the only exit from the hidden room had been blocked.

Hinoka gave a shaky exhale and lowered her hands. “Thank the gods that worked.”

Marx had felt it the moment Hinoka had activated the node— its divine power had been exhausted with that one use and had winked out of existence. The threat of using dragon’s vein again had all been a bluff. It also meant that they couldn’t use the node to escape. They were trapped.

This was all his fault.

That thought repeated in his mind until it was he all could think. Marx’s breathing grew unsteady, enough so that Hinoka must’ve taken notice. For in the next moment she’d knelt beside him.

"It's alright. I’m here," she spoke softly, her hands on his shoulders. "You’re alive, that’s what matters. We’ll get out of this. It’ll be alright."

It wasn't alright. He knew it wasn't alright. Everything in his body told him it wasn't alright. And he didn't know how to make it alright. Marx didn't know what he was supposed to do, or what was the proper thing to say. And so words escaped— painful, desperate, and pulling every emotion he'd tried to keep contained with them.

“You’re not safe here. I was supposed to keep you safe. I’m meant to protect you.” His voice heaved out of him, between inhales of breath far too large and fast. He felt like retching as he admitted, “You deserve a better husband.”

“Don’t I get a say in this? Because whoever told you that is wrong, Marx.” Hinoka’s voice and grip grew firm. “You made a vow to me, gave me care over your life and your death. What sort of wife would I be to stay safe behind walls of stone when my husband might be dying? I can’t live like that, and refuse to pretend anymore.”

She put her arms around him. He tensed and thought, _No no, I tricked her, I don’t deserve-_ But when he started to pull away Hinoka held onto him tightly, refusing to be separated by halfhearted motions. It would take the sum of his strength to get away, and he’d decided long ago to never touch his spouse with violence. Marx forced his body to relax into her hold, gingerly touched along her spine with his knuckles.

His wife pulled him into a real embrace. “Let me stay by your side.”

“Hinoka…” He took his next tight breath, and then covered her back with the whole of his hands.

Marx lost track of time in her arms, sitting alone with her in a room without doors or windows. Later he would be embarrassed how long it took him to regain his composure and gather his wits. Yet he would also remember that Hinoka’s hold was constant and patient in the entirety of that time.

She didn’t revile him for his weakness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Garou is the Japanese script name for the Wolfskin/Wolfssegner tribe.
> 
> FE's never really seemed to have much solid mentions of the afterlife, yet the localization made mentions of "the devil" so I decided to include the reference here too.


	14. Breathing Smoke and Slumber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some possibly triggering content is in this chapter. If that concerns you, please read this [page](http://damoselceles.dreamwidth.org/5217.html) where the warning is detailed. Know that the trigger listing also acts as mild spoilers for this chapter.
> 
> Originally posted 8/31/2016.

Marx's thoughts had finally ceased spiraling and his mind had regained enough order that he was able to calm his rushed breathing. He'd regained enough composure to pull away from the temptation of lingering in his wife’s embrace— a criminal's den was not an appropriate place for such things. Hinoka allowed him to draw back without protest, though he felt the weight of her concerned gaze.

The Nohrian prince felt suddenly shy, and was rather mortified that his wife had witnessed such a loss of self-control. For her to have seen him at a disadvantage, defeated… It wasn’t something he’d have chosen to show her. Yet it’d been her response, the stubborn patience and gentle insistence, that’d left him ill at ease now that the episode had passed.

“…thank you, Hinoka,” he said, unable to meet her eyes.

“Considering I was the one to collapse a building on us, Marx, I don’t know if you should be thanking me just yet,” she replied with wry humor. Her fingers smoothed the hair from his face, mess that it was with the tie lost, she tucked longer strands behind his ears.

The fragile moment was broken by a strange sound, that of splashing, against the other side of the blocked door and walls. Hinoka wondered aloud what it might be and stood to investigate. Marx attempted to do the same but found his right leg unable to bear any of his weight, so only managed to rise tilted. As his wife exclaimed that some sort of clear liquid had seeped through onto the floor, he smelled it— the swampy vegetation scent of oil that was used to fuel lamps in Markas.

Already she’d knelt down to inspect it, the hem of her gown had soaked some up, before he could warn, “Hinoka, get away from that! It’s oil meant for burning-”

The spark that lit the oil from the other side was all consuming. In a flash, it turned to liquid fire and Hinoka screamed as it caught her skirt aflame even as she scrambled back. Marx threw himself bodily and tore at the fabric of the skirt where it met the bodice. The seam was quickly rent and he tossed the burning cloth away from them both.

“Th-thank you,” her voice was shaky. Yet her hands were steady as she drew one of his arms about her shoulders and helped him to stand again.

“Ganz is a coward.” His own voice shook, and it was with anger.

They both flinched when one of the lanterns that’d been knocked over during the fights caught and fueled the new fire— limiting where they could go to get as far away from it as the room allowed. Marx felt a black rage building inside him over all that had happened to them and at how the criminal intended to burn them alive, since he couldn’t win in a fight. This entire district within Vindam’s inner circle had buildings made with wood, if the flame engulfed the building and spread to the next— it could kill countless citizens. People like Ganz had to be hunted and put down without mercy.

“We need to get out of this room.” Hinoka gazed up to one of the larger holes in the roof created by her use of dragon’s vein, then at him. “Do you think you could give me a boost? It looks like the only way.”

He wouldn’t be able to lift her above his head like he’d normally be able to with both legs, but the opening wasn’t too far from a wall. Marx nodded, and tried to carry as much of his own weight as he could while she walked them over. Once there he instructed her to lean him against the wall, and arranged himself until he felt steady. Then he threaded his fingers together, had her hands grip his shoulders, and told her to step up.

With Hinoka’s foot supported by his hands, Marx ignored the aching of his arms and used the strength of his upper body to lift her as high as he could— and it was enough. He felt the moment his arms dipped down as she pushed off from his hands, jumping the remaining distance to the hole and loosened timbers. One handhold, then two, he watched as she heaved herself up, over the edge, and out onto the roof.

“Mmm… made it!” Hinoka’s voice echoed down. “Get close to that wall, I’m going to push one of these beams so you can climb up.”

He did as was told, huddled as best he could in a room that’d grown increasingly hot and smoke-filled. Abruptly there were sounds of reverberating smacks and grunting, a loose timber rocked and then swayed until finally it crashed down onto the floor with one end still propped against the low angle of the roof.

After the support beam had settled, Hinoka’s soot-smudged face peered over the hole’s edge. She called to him, “Marx, do you think that’ll be enough?”

Underneath the soot her face was red with exertion and he could tell that she was breathing hard, so he nodded. It wouldn’t do to risk destroying the roof supports further lest the entire thing collapse and entomb them. It proved a difficult climb. The wood’s grain had been made smooth and without use of both legs he mostly had to move from one painful handhold and pull himself to the next. The smoke had begun to sting both his eyes and airways, but it motivated Marx to get out before he became lightheaded.

Hinoka helped pull him onto the roof once he was within reach, although he’d nearly told her to stop, worried that his weight might drag her over the edge. He laid sprawled and panted. It was a few moments before he dragged his body over the roof’s tiles until he could take in just how far up they were. The building had multiple stories, and the road below was packed cobblestone. There was no way they could jump off without injury or possibly death.

As if she knew his thoughts, Hinoka groaned beside him. “I shouldn’t be scared. I fly higher than this every day.” Her legs almost seemed to give out and she sat down heavily beside Marx while gazing over the roof’s edge.

Although he still struggled against the smoky air for breath, he managed to say, “Only fools don’t fear death.” When he saw her body tensing and leaning forward, Marx leaned up and wrapped an arm around her waist. He felt her give a hard exhale as his head softly butted against her side.

Her smaller hands caught his, but didn’t push him away even as she argued, “We can’t just stay like this.”

“I know…” He tilted his head and looked her full in the face. “I don’t want you to try and jump.” _I don’t want you to die._

“I was going to try climbing.” Hinoka nearly squeaked as he tightened his hold on her. “I know it’s dangerous, but we have to get down from here!”

He shook his head. “We’ll find another way.”

“What way, Marx?” Her hands squeezed his tightly. “You’re injured, the room below us is on fire with its door blocked, this roof could give out at any moment. Unless you have a ladder hidden on you, I can’t think of any other way down.” She stared at him, determination eclipsing the fear in her eyes. He had to set his teeth against the urge to give in and let her risk her life.

“Prince Marx, Princess Hinoka!”

A voice called out, faint and far above them. Together they looked to the sky and saw a tenma, Marx’s tenma, black wings dissipating the rising smoke as he descended. Kouun grew closer that the air moved by its wings stirred their clothing and hair as the rider became recognizable— Cyrus.

Once close enough to be heard clearly as he shouted at them, “That entire building is on fire, you can’t stay on that collapsing roof.”

The young knight held the reigns in one hand and used the other to toss something down. With the smoke stinging Marx’s eyes and pain dulling his senses, Hinoka reacted faster. She reached up and caught the length of rope that had uncoiled, but only one end as the other appeared to be attached to the skyhorse’s harness. With that observation Marx realized what Cyrus intended— lifting was a training exercise for flying mounts, while wyverns could pick objects up with their claws tenma had to have special harnesses to pull weight off the ground. He’d run Kouun through the course but hardly considered it mastered.

“Your Highness, tie that around and I’ll bring both of you to safety.”

With those words Hinoka immediately pried Marx’s arm open, shifted him onto his back, and maneuvered him until he sat upright. She then sat herself upon his lap and efficiently looped the rope to that is crisscrossed about their shoulders and back. After tying its end in a knot, she tugged at the rope and shouted up, “The rope’s tied, get us off here!”

“At once, my lady!”

In the next moment Kouun rose higher and lifted them into the air, the rope brought their chests together in a cruel hold. The Nohrian prince both heard and felt as breath was crushed from his wife, and he grabbed at the crossing of rope at her back to try and force a little slack. They dangled like a pair of meat chops on a hook. He had to grit his teeth against the way his stomach turned over the lack of anything solid underfoot.

Thankfully, the young knight knew better than to try and fly them far like this, instead descending slowly towards the cobblestones below. They steadily lowered and Marx's feet hit the ground first. He couldn't hold back a cry at the pain that jolted through him as his injured leg folded in on itself with their combined weight. He was able to slap out his arms and tuck his head in as he went backwards, taking the brunt of the fall while Hinoka was still tied to him.

"My lord!"

“Xander!”

He hardly heard Cyrus' alarmed cry and a woman’s voice over the flap of wings and crackling of burning wood as he gasped to regain the breath that'd been knocked out of him. However, Hinoka practically yelled in his ear as she craned to look behind, "Asama, help us!"

In the next moment her retainer was at their side and unsheathed a small knife. The Hoshidan priest quipped as he set the blade to the rope, "My, my, whatever happened to your dress, Princess? That and the rope... it's indecent."

The impulse to strike the man surged through Marx, and again Hinoka seemed to know his mind as she reached up and slapped. Although Asama did little more than flinch, it assuaged Marx’s need for violence and soon enough he was distracted by the ropes loosening. With his help, his wife shrugged out of the bindings and they were both able to sit up.

“Your highnesses, you’re alive!” Zola cried out, sounding near teary with relief.

Marx glanced over and found that the mage was casting an ice spell from a fimbulvetr tome towards the smoldering building’s openings. He then looked at their surroundings, and was shocked by the hunched figure, wrists tied to her ankles with strips of cloth— it was Pieri. Her face was once again streaked by kohl-blackened tears, and her visible eye was watching him unwaveringly as she sat huddled on the street.

Hinoka followed his gaze and said, “We were leaving from the royal passageway when I spied you two walking in the street. I insisted we follow. Zola used his magic to disguise us so we tailed you… I was just planning to watch, until that woman came out and you didn’t. After we captured and interrogated her, I sent Joker and Setsuna to go get reinforcements before I went inside.”

“She told you where to find Ganz’s hidden room.” Hinoka nodded, so Marx steeled himself and said, “Let her go."

"What?! But she left you in there to die-"

"I granted the Kohgan amnesty, do this for me."

Hinoka’s eyes flashed with temper, but she stood and took the knife from her retainer. While she made her way over, Asama blocked his view and turned his face this way and that. The priest clicked his tongue, “Stay still, Prince. You stuck that big nose into trouble, and now I’ve got to straighten it.”

Marx winced as thumbs pressed the break back into shape, despite the pain being small compared to the overall state of his battered body. Once his nose had been straightened, the Hoshidan stooped to check his injured knee and finally got out of his line of sight.

He watched as Hinoka cut Pieri’s makeshift bindings and helped her to her feet. There was no anger in her voice as she told the other woman, “You’re free to go.”

Pieri blinked as if in a stupor, then looked to Marx perhaps seeking approval. He couldn’t help but sigh, “Go, Pieri, before the guard arrive.”

At this the twin-tailed woman sniffled loudly and faced his wife. “Be sure to kiss Xander proper!” Peiri huffed out, before she turned then dashed into an alleyway and out of sight.

A gust of wind washed over them and there was the clack of horseshoes on stone. Ignoring the discomfort over the fingers pressing and prodding his tender knee, Marx looked towards the sound. Cyrus had landed the sky horse and led it towards him, having untied the rope from the harness as he went.

“Prince Marx, forgive me for riding your tenma. Jakob insisted time was of the essence, but I have no talent managing wyverns.” Cyrus said, voice edged with nervousness.

“There’s nothing to forgive, sir Cyrus. You handled the situation admirably-” Marx bit off his words with a grunt as the Hoshidan began wrapping his knee with a cloth bandage, tightly.

“Marx, don’t push yourself.” Hinoka knelt next him, on the side opposite her retainer.

“Princess, worry not. He’ll be good as new soon enough,” Asama’s assurance was dampened by the flippancy in his tone. The Hoshidan priest brandished a festal but before it glowed with healing magic, he paused. A hand rose and grabbed his chin, abruptly enough that the Nohrian prince nearly tried to shake off his grip as it tilted his head. "When was the last time you slept?"

"What?" Marx nearly flinched as the man tugged at an eyelid and peered at the exposed orb.

"The white of your eyes are bloodshot, pupils pinpoint, and the irises flare blue in time with your pulse.” Asama's impudent jesting had been replaced by a serious demeanor, his tone entirely somber. “A dreaming mind allows the body to filter out magic built up either from resisting hostile spells or residually left by healing magic. So, when was the last time you slept?"

"Not since the night before last." Asama lifted his hands away, and Marx held back a sigh of relief.

The Hoshidan scoffed, "Only that long? Someone's been working you over since then." The priest righted himself and looked to Hinoka. "It'd be dangerous to subject his body to any more magic while it's overloaded like this. He needs to sleep before any rodwork should be applied. Some food, drink, and a couple doses of pure water would also help. Before you ask, milady, I do not have any on me."

“Then we need to return to the castle and get those things.” His wife’s hands gripped Marx’s shoulders. “How were you planning to return… looking like this?”

“Walking on my own two feet,” he dryly answered, not needing to state that it was no longer an option.

Hinoka worried her bottom lip with her teeth, before she looked to the young knight. “We need to get my husband to the castle as soon as possible. Cyrus, I’m going to take Kouun and fly him back.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait before going airborne, Your Highness.” Cyrus smiled apologetically as he tilted his head up, leading all their gazes to wyverns circling in descent. “The fire brigade has finally arrived, and it’ll be too windy for flying once they get to work.”

When Marx glanced at his wife he found a puzzled expression on her face, likely because as the flying beasts landed the only cargo to be seen was human, no buckets of water or sacks of sand. Yet he offered no explanation, simply watched on as she did. The wyvern riders helped down the additional passengers, short women who likely looked unassuming to Hinoka’s eyes. Even though it’d been many years since he’d last laid eyes upon them, it was impossible not to recognize the twins of the Ice Clan’s chief family.

The sisters, one of pink colored hair and the other blue, walked by their group towards the burning building and did not stop to bow. Marx didn’t begrudge them for their mistake, as these two hadn’t the permission to attend his wedding celebrations thus wouldn’t know the Hoshidonese princess and likely wouldn’t recognize him without his armor or regalia. Besides, they’d been released from the Northern Citadel to do a duty— he wouldn’t have ceremony stand in their way.

“Ah, the Freezians are here. Good, good.” Zola closed the tome and stepped aside. “I’ve managed to contain the fire to one building, but it will quickly spread if it’s not snuffed out all at once. Which would be such a tragedy to the shop keeps in this district.”

The blue sister looked to the pink and made a circular motion with one hand, to which the other nodded so enthusiastically that the high tail that bound her hair up whipped with the motion. Then they stood with their feet close together, heels touching, and raised their arms high. The clouds covering the sky grew darker still, until it churned with a true storm. A bitingly cold wind suddenly blew, and it pierced through cloth and flesh down to the very bone. It made Marx’s entire body shiver in mere moments and he felt Hinoka’s shaking as she attempted to position her smaller form as a windbreak for his.

The storm clouds swirled ominously and the wind blew strongly enough that it howled through alleyways and caused shutters to slam. The sisters abruptly lowered their hands, open palms facing the burning building— and the gusts’ direction changed. Ice crystals formed as the wind circled and steadily the flames shrunk as frost crept over the entire architecture. By the time the women from Freezia clapped their hands together and caused the icy squall to still, not even smoke rose from the previously burning building and the very cobblestones of the street were covered with frost.

Zola let out excited congratulations despite his chattering teeth. When the sisters turned to face the mage, their faces weren’t any rosier than they’d been before. Although they were both smiling, perhaps satisfied by being able to use their inborn talents or being free from their cage even if temporarily. Marx glanced to Hinoka and found her staring at the Freezians with wide eyes, breaths puffing out into the chilly air.

“Your Highness, it’s safe to fly now,” Cyrus said, suddenly.

Hinoka’s attention immediately snapped to him. “Then let’s go!”

At her direction Cyrus and Asama both shouldered Marx’s weight to assist him with climbing onto the saddle while she held the tenma steady. Even with the help it was a difficult thing with a bum leg, and after having had a moment to rest the renewed struggle tweaked every pain and ache he’d been ignoring. Moments after Marx had found his balance and settled then their retainers had drawn away, his wife swung up into the saddle behind him. Through the disguise Marx wore he felt her body mold against his, Hinoka's legs bracketing from behind. Kouun stamped his hooves with a whinny, unaccustomed to the weight of multiple riders.

They'd shared a mount before, but Froh was larger, and this awkward arrangement spurred him to protest, “Hinoka, I don’t-”

“Hush, I need to make sure you aren’t unseated during the flight.” She slid close enough to reach around his waist to pet along the sky horse’s neck.

The position pressed her chest to his back in a way he couldn't help but be acutely aware of, with only fabric between them. He dug his fingers into a bruise on his thigh to regain focus and asked, “…can you even see?”

“You’re not that big.” Her elbows squeezed against his sides, perhaps to prove her point, then she leaned so that she peered around him. “Reins!”

Cyrus guided the reins into Hinoka’s hands, and then he stepped back. “Jakob will be waiting near the stables. He’ll get you both inside undetected.”

Marx felt his wife nod, and then she nudged Kouun into motion.

“Remember, no healing magic until after he’s drank pure water and had a full night’s worth of sleep!” Asama yelled as they took off down the road.

The sky horse broke into a gallop and with great flaps of feathered wings left the cobblestone, all of which jostled painfully. They rose into the air quickly, Vindam shrank beneath them. Marx held the pommel in a white knuckled grip as a dizzy spell caused his head to spin. Mercifully the vertigo abated once they leveled out, and the city sped by as they soared towards Krackenstein castle. The rhythmic flaps of the wings seemed to match the beat of his heart, and he found the thin air almost as difficult to breath as the smoke had been.

“We’ll be there soon! I won’t let you fall, Marx,” Hinoka shouted over the wind rushing by.

Marx’s heart squeezed painfully at her words. He gave into temptation and allowed himself to savor being in his wife’s arms. Allowed the closeness to distract him— from fears of burning alive, fears of dying from a hard landing, fears of her going where he could not. It was thoughts of only Hinoka that occupied his mind as Marx stared into the wheeling sky.

Someone was calling his name. That was what had woken Marx from slumber, he was sluggish and disoriented. His entire body felt like one great, throbbing bruise and he was reluctant to become fully aware while so discomforted. Then he felt hands on him— pulling, yanking, twisting, cruel holds.

The memories of being forced down had the Nohrian prince surging upright, his own hands ready to strike out. Only to find himself pinned flat, gasping for breaths.

“Calm yourself, soldier!” A gravelly voice ordered and Marx felt himself relaxing with recognition. Gunther, the voice belonged to Gunther. He blinked until his vision was no longer blurred, and confirmed that he'd heard right— it was his retainer who sat at his bedside and whose strength had held him.

“Get up that fast and you’ll crack your skull open,” the old knight’s chin tipped as one brow raised.

Marx glanced to see a bunk above his current position, low enough for him to easily hit his head against. It came back to him. He was in the castle barracks, still disguised and his wounds tended to by non-magical means. He'd been too exhausted, falling into a deep slumber the moment he'd reclined against the cot. This wasn’t the first time he’d been woken here by his retainer, but the other time had lasted only long enough to eat and drink before he’d drifted back to sleep.

He coughed a few times, then evened out his breathing. “…it’s time for my next dose.”

“Very good, that is precisely why I roused you,” Gunther replied, and Marx felt himself fidgeting at how close his words were to praise. While they were no longer teacher and student, it was difficult to abandon old habits and hopes.

He didn’t fight as Gunther’s hands shifted his body and brought him out of recline, instead he fought off the spinning of the room until the sensation passed. Once he was propped upright an opened vial was brought to his mouth, Marx gingerly tipped his head back and drank its contents. The pure water tasted like nothing. The liquid simply left one's mouth feeling clean, refreshed, and with only the slightest tingle on the tongue. The lattermost he vaguely recalled was the effect of this particular tonic being a solution of concentrated aegir, which boosted one's innate ability to break down magic within the body.

When a spoon was brought up to his mouth, however, Marx pushed the hand away. “Gunther, please. I can feed myself.”

He could tell his retainer was hiding a smile as the old knight handed him the utensil and full bowl. It was turnip mash, something Marx wished was as tasteless as the tonic. He didn't complain. One good thing about this food was no need to chew, and a few of his teeth ached loosely. He spooned the slop into his mouth and swallowed, quickly as he could stand.

When he'd finished the last of the mash Gunther spoke up, “You’re much more awake this time. Are you still hungry? I could fetch some apple cakes.”

“No need,” Marx didn’t dignify his teasing with any more of a response. Although it was his favorite dessert, he was hardly a child that needed rewards. Gunther laughed under his breath, undoubtedly having guessed why he’d chosen to decline.

Rather than handing over the emptied bowl, he kept hold of it. The old knight gave him a curious look, but his gaze held the calm patience the Nohrian prince had come to rely upon. He broke eye contact to glance about the barracks— noting that it was quiet because it was deserted, and that they were the only two within the long room.

With privacy confirmed, Marx pushed past his hesitation and asked, “How much were you told of what happened to me?”

“You mean concerning before you came back like this?” Gunther reached up and pinched a strand of blackened hair, his nostrils flared likely smelling how Marx stank of smoke. “Not much. Your wife was much more concerned that I ensure your health, than telling me how you got into this sorry state.”

Marx released a shaky exhale, torn between relief that his shame wasn’t known and the temptation to talk with someone he trusted. After a moment, he decided to compromise— there’d been one worry he hadn’t been able to shake. Looking his retainer in the eye, he asked, “Gunther, do you think… If I fail to get Hinoka with child, will my brother take my place?”

“Do you mean the stipulation that any heirs to Nohr’s throne must be born of Hoshido’s princess and the crown prince?” Gunther had been by his side when the marriage contract had been drafted, thus knew the conditions, stipulations, and how they factored in the alliance.

“If I cannot do that duty…” Marx had to swallow a lump in his throat. “Wouldn’t it be best for Nohr if my father revoked my position and gave it to Leo?”

Gunther’s eyes narrowed and he was quiet for a long while. Finally, he said, “Prince Marx, it hasn’t even been a full season since you were wed, such worries are hasty. Surely you haven’t forgotten that it took over half a decade following their marriage before Queen Ektrina had you.”

He couldn’t hold back a scoff. “In that time my father took concubines, it’s not as if all they did was wait. You know I am not my mother’s firstborn child, just the first to live.”

“Lady Dahlia is also contracted to your mother. Is that what you’re actually worried about?” Gunther arched a brow. “The clause that the princess will be only one man’s wife? Are you worried she’ll be taken away from you?”

“Hinoka doesn’t belong to me.” Of that, Marx was certain.

Yet Gunther sounded unconvinced, “Doesn’t she though? Isn’t that what you two agreed to when you became her husband and she your wife? Whatever your notions of marriage are, Prince Marx, belonging cannot be avoided any more than shared property. If Princess Hinoka was given exclusively to another, how could that be anything other than taking her from you?”

“That’s…” Marx found himself at a loss of what to say. Such thinking was strange and rather possessive, but there was a logic to what his retainer argued. He couldn’t deny the thought of being separated from Hinoka caused his guts to twist.

When he made no further response the old knight spoke again, his voice quiet, “I understand your fears better than a highborn could, I expect. In my youth I had a wife.” Marx felt his eyes widen, Gunter gave him a pointed look. “Only the one, for we were wed in the common way. I was hers and she was mine, we’d vowed to share everything. When my wife was taken from me it felt like a part of my soul went with her.”

In all the years the old knight had served him the only talk of his past had been military achievements— never family. Marx almost felt like he was trespassing as he asked, “How was she taken from you?”

Gunther’s expression tightened then his eyes shut. “She was murdered.”

“Gunther…”

The older man’s eyes opened, and he shook his head at the sympathetic tone. “As I said, my prince, I understand your fears all too well.”

Before he could form a reply there were footsteps, that went from faint to encroaching. As quickly as he could Marx slid down and turned so that he faced away from the entrances. Just in time— a door slammed open, as there was the click of heels, and then his sister’s voice rang out, “I heard there was a patient that needs treatment!”

“Princess Elise.” He could hear the rustle of cloth as Gunther moved, likely standing. “I know you are undergoing training as a healer by order of His Majesty, but this soldier simply needs to rest.”

“Eh? I can see the bruising and bandages on that guy from here. If I use my healing staff on him, he’ll be feeling much better!”

From Elise’s tone, Marx could tell she was being stubborn. He had to struggle against the urge to cough, and forced himself to lie still to feign sleep. Fortunately, Gunther was accustomed to dealing with bull-headed children.

“Not in this case, my lady.” Gunther reached around him and took away the discarded dish. “This man’s treatment is a dose of pure water and time spent sleeping.”

“Pure water does interfere with magic, but-”

“Why don’t we go and speak with the barracks healer, Princess Elise? Quiet after all, makes it easier to rest.”

Gunther’s footfalls were heavy as he walked away, and soon lighter steps joined his.

“Fine, Gunther.” His little sister agreed, but then started trying to wheedle a promise out of the old knight that he’d take her riding outside of castle grounds— despite the fact that Garon’s current punishment forbid such things. Elise always did try to get her way, whether through her disarming appearance or privilege of status.

Marx lay against the cot and listened. It wasn’t long before he could no longer hear them, and quiet descended. He allowed the cough to claw its way out of his throat, and set his teeth against how it shook his body and exacerbated the many aches. Once Elise had been put off the scent Gunther would return and tell him when the treatment was through, then the pain would be removed with healing. Marx might’ve been tempted to refuse the staff and recover naturally as penance for being beaten, but a useless leg couldn’t be waited upon.

As he truly settled against the cot and shut his eyes, Gunther’s words stood like monuments at the forefront of his memory. Belonging and loss. Could such things truly be his future as a husband? Part of him wanted to contemplate but the majority of him saw no point in fighting off exhaustion to remain awake. Instead Marx greedily soaked up the rest his body required.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say that Gunther's backstory was tragically under-used in the game? Cause I really thought it was.


	15. Climb To Lofty Bower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some possibly triggering content is in this chapter. If that concerns you, please read this [page](http://damoselceles.dreamwidth.org/5705.html) where the warning is detailed. Know that the trigger listing also acts as mild spoilers for this chapter.
> 
> Originally posted 8/31/2016.

Disguised as Marx had been, Hinoka was unable to stay by her husband's side while he recovered. There would’ve been too many questions if Nohr's crown prince had turned up bloody and bruised without explanation, so Marx had been taken to the barracks still incognito rather than his own chambers. Thankfully that old Nohrian knight, sir Gunther, had agreed to go in her place since it was not unusual for him to visit with the soldiers and guard— which had soothed Hinoka's worries somewhat. The night had passed for her sleeplessly. While breaking fast that morning, she'd found Joker to be just as harried and on edge as herself.

So she hadn't bothered to attend lessons, and instead flew early to the Northern Citadel for her weekly meeting with Leo's mother. The woman's sharp wit and foremost concern for matters of business had proved to be ample enough distraction, to Hinoka's relief. Only when the midday meal was announced did they take a break from trading matters. They’d eaten and had moved onto a game of chess, as had become habit. Yet Hinoka found the board game did not occupy her mind so thoroughly, thus her thoughts wandered.

Since that horrible incident in the crime den, Hinoka couldn’t stop thinking about all that'd led up to it. Not only the ongoing problems within Nohr's capital, but the deal her husband had struck with the Kohgan, Ashura— the promise to aid in the reconstruction of a destroyed nation. Hinoka sent messages regarding the situation to both her father and older brother as soon as Marx had told her, but had yet to receive letters in return. Inevitable, as the distances between the capitals meant considerable travel time for any messenger whether by land, sea, or air. She was certain her family would be less than pleased with the promises they’d made. She knew most of the feudal lords would want nothing to do with Kohga… but there was nothing she could do about that. Even if Hinoka could somehow return to Shirazaki, her presence had only ever infuriated the noblemen of the court. Yet King Garon had seemingly accepted the makeshift alliance with a gang leader without issue.

Orochi hadn’t been in Krackenstein castle since Ashura was released back into the city, instead she’d accompanied the Kohgan and sent reports written in old Hoshidan back through the same agents who worked for Nohr’s royal family. While Hinoka knew her to be a talented diviner, Orochi had also been in her life since she was a child. The Hoshidonese princess wouldn’t forgive herself if something terrible happened because she’d sent her father’s retainer on a mission with strangers. So every missive was a relief, it meant Orochi was still alive. If her latest report was accurate, with Ashura’s gang’s cooperation Nohr’s royal forces had already rooted out several crime dens.

The thought of such awful places not being able to harm anyone else was a comforting one.

A sudden clack of a chess piece falling over broke Hinoka’s chain of thought. Her attention shifted to the board and found that Blanche’s bishop had captured her knight. The bespectacled woman sounded none too impressed as she said, "I hope this game hasn't bored, Your Highness."

"My apologies, Blanche.” Hinoka watched as the claimed white piece was placed in the wooden box. “I've just been thinking about my last outing in Vindam."

As she considered what move to make next, Blanche continued the conversation, "Yes, the spring tournament. You acted as the queen's proxy, did you not?"

"I did.” Hinoka moved a pawn into to prevent further movement of the bishop on her side of the board. She then glanced up and asked, “How'd you hear of it already? It happened just yesterday."

A half-smile lurked near the corner of her painted mouth. "Just because I'm cooped up here, doesn't mean I'm blind or deaf. Princess Hinoka, you should know by now that eyes and ears are everywhere."

Before she could respond Blanche abruptly moved a black rook across the board and through the empty space her lost knight had once occupied. “Check.”

Hinoka took in the board and had to hold in a sigh. She realized that her last move had been a mistake, one that had paid too much attention to one piece and opened up a path for another. She’d moved her own bishop on that side several turns ago, thus nothing currently blocked Blanche’s rook from seizing victory next turn. She’d have to move her king out of danger. If this had been a shogi match against her brother, Takumi would’ve undoubtedly gloated over how her tendency to play defensively was a disadvantage against an offensively aggressive player.

While she considered the best placement for her king, Leo’s mother spoke again, “I also heard that one of the tournament’s finalists was killed during the last match and that you awarded the championship to the man’s opponents. It is a shame that the first event you publicly officiated in Nohr was tarnished in such a way.”

That had Hinoka looking up. “It was unfortunate. However, even before the killing blow he’d used a prohibited weapon and his partner had been knocked out-”

“So they’d already lost,” Blanche interrupted, mouth pursing into a moue. “Then his foolishness fell on his own head.” The proclamation seemed to be the end of that subject. Hinoka moved her king, the chess match continued.

After Hinoka had lost the game they’d looked over the candidates and discussed which adventurer would be best for their venture, then Blanche had finally concluded their business for the week. They politely exchanged goodbyes and parted ways. On the way down to the courtyard where their mounts waited, the Hoshidonese princess asked the other Hoshidan, “You always drink a cup or two of tea while we’re here, Setsuna. Why?”

Her retainer pondered a moment before answering, “…well, Asama doesn’t like how cold the stone floors are in our room. And he doesn’t like the Nohrian mattress... If I couple with him, he stops complaining and falls asleep on the bed.”

Setsuna had always been frank in her answers, even if it concerned their private lives. Although Hinoka had mixed feelings knowing that her retainers had grown even closer than they had been in Hoshido. She decided to pester Asama over his intentions later, she asked the archer, “Would you like me to get you some tea leaves packed with black dragon root to keep in your room at Krackenstein castle?”

“Yes, please, my lady…” This time Setsuna answered without pause.

At this Hinoka halted the both of them and said, “Setsuna, go ahead with Blanche’s documents and deliver them to Nyx. I’m going to ask the kitchens here for a batch of the tea, to tide you over until I can order some.”

The archer nodded, took the sheaves of parchment bound in leather, then ambled on and out of sight. From one of the many maids the Hoshidonese princess and received directions to the Northern Citadel’s kitchens, and hurried her way there. However, as she walked her mind once again wandered returning to the day prior.

Her thoughts stuck on one particular memory— how weak in the knees she’d been on that roof. Marx had been debilitated by injury and exhaustion… yet she’d still been afraid to scale the building. Despite feeling at one with her tenma when flying through the skies, it was difficult for her to fall on purpose even when jumping down. It’d led to her dithering when she should’ve acted. Hinoka had thought hard about it and decided it was because of that time she’d fallen.

It’d happened during her first flight on Senshi. The sky horse had been unruly because of the anger she’d held inside herself, and how she’d still tried to force her to obey. In the end Hinoka had been dislodged from the saddle and fell a long, long ways. If Asama hadn’t been wandering that day and healed her, the landing against the mountainside would’ve undoubtedly been her end. That day was unforgettable, and made it difficult for her to fall on purpose, even if to jump downwards.

It hadn’t simply been that memory and old fear that’d held her back, had banished her usual recklessness. Hinoka couldn’t stopped questioning if Cyrus hadn’t come to their rescue, if she would’ve continued to not act? Would she really have been content to die with Marx holding her?

The Hoshidonese princess was abruptly jostled from her increasingly morbid thoughts as a solid weight bumped into her. It was followed by an alarmed cry— then she gasped in shock as liquid splashed across the front of her uniform and seeped coldly against her skin. It took a blink or two to regain her bearings and realize that it’d been a vase full of cut flowers, which was now overturned on the floor.

“Uaawawawah, I’m so, so, so sorry!” The maid who’d been carrying it was currently flailing, apparently torn between cleaning up the mess and attending to a cloth bundle still in her arms interfered with the possibility of the former.

“It’s fine, just be more careful in the future.” Hinoka said, but found her body betraying its discomfort by beginning to shiver.

“I will be!” The servant quickly bobbed into a deep bow, her high tail of thick hair whipped with the motion. It was an unusual shade, a pink not bright but light— a color she’d only seen once before in Vindam. Hinoka had to hold in a surprised breath as she realized just where she’d see it before: on one of the women who had summoned the icy winds to extinguish the fire. She hadn’t been dressed like this yesterday, however, she couldn’t quite recall what the servant _had_ been wearing.

When the pinkette righted her eyes didn’t turn deferentially away but darted over Hinoka, undoubtedly having noticed her shivering. “I’ve soaked you through. We’ve got to get you somewhere you can change out of those clothes, please follow me.”

Before she could say anything the servant actually grabbed her by the arm and led her down the hallway at a fast pace. Thankfully she was around Hinoka’s height or it might’ve been a struggle to keep up. As they approached a bend in the corridor her arm was finally released. The maid shook out the bundle of cloth, then wrapped the unfurled cloak about her shoulders. It gathered high against her neck and fell all the way to her ankles. She kept a tight grip on it’s front to prevent the folds of the cloak from parting, the billowy cloth instead hiding her form.

The moment they turned the next corner Hinoka spied a pair of guardsmen blocking the corridor. The guards’ heads turned towards the both of them, but they didn’t move from their position. Most curiously the pinkette’s posture shrank into itself as they stopped before the men.

“Lil’ missy, you had permission to go out to the gardens. This does not look like a flower bouquet,” he pointed at Hinoka.

“Ah, I’m sorry.” There was a hitch in the woman’s voice and her shoulders curled defensively. “I accidentally spilled the vase and now she needs a place to dry off.”

The guardsman gave an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll go inform the staff about the need for clean-up. But you’d better share some of those cookies with us once your guest’s gone.”

“Thank you! And I promise I will,” she smiled at him gratefully and the guards parted so that they could pass.

This time she walked closely behind Hinoka to herd her past. Only when they’d gone down the corridor and began to ascend a spiraling set of stairs did the servant allow some distance between them. Although they didn’t cease climbing, she let go of her cloak and began removing it. “Forgive me for not offering this to you earlier… I needed it-”

“To hide your outfit from the guards. I take it you’re not actually a maid in this castle?” Hinoka accepted the cloak when it was held out to her, the cloth thick enough to provide warmth despite her sodden clothes underneath.

The woman’s face turned as pink as her hair and she nodded. She fairly sputtered out a strained whisper, “P-please don’t tell anyone! I couldn’t get out and do anything if I didn’t borrow this uniform.”

Those words had the Hoshidonese princess recalling when the younger son of the Saizou line had once told her that servants’ garb was one of the best disguises, because they were often purposefully ignored. Although that was likely the reason why this person was dressed in this way, it’d been her hair color that had been so recognizable— and made her wonder if the disguise worked all that well in this case.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Hinoka said. The woman exhaled and repeatedly thanked her— and likely would’ve continued to all the way up the stairs if Hinoka hadn’t distracted her by asking, “What should I call you?”

“Ah! I’m sorry for not saying before.” Her big eyes went even wider, the color of them a pale blue like Hoshido’s winter skies. “My name’s Felicia. Although I’ve been called scatterbrain, and bubblehead, and simpleton-”

“I’ll stick with Felicia.” Hinoka interrupted the self-abasement and changed the subject, “So if you’re not a maid, are you a servant here?”

“U-um… not exactly,” Felicia’s expression grew sheepish. "My sister and I are being fostered by Her Majesty here at the Northern Citadel."

Hinoka had learned about fostering during a history lesson concerning Nohr's fourteenth ruler, King Gerard, and how his seven foster siblings had given their lives one after the other in his defense during his blood brother's attempted coup. Fosterage, a Nohrian practice where a family would accept the responsibilities of rearing and educating a child not their own. Unlike adoption the child was not made a permanent member of that household, but instead would eventually return to their original family.

It reminded the Hoshidonese princess in a way of sankin-kōtai. How the feudal lords’ young heirs lived two seasons out of the year in Shirazaki for education. These days the gathering was maintained in hopes of amicably bridging disputes between provinces and discouraging rivalries, but when the policy had first been enacted it’d been more of a hostage system.

That knowledge, yesterday’s display, and the woman’s unusual coloring had Hinoka suspecting this stranger wasn’t simply a Nohrian noblewoman. Keeping her tone light, she asked, “Where’re you from?”

“In a little village at the base of the Cloudtop Mountains. The Nohrians call it Freezia, but it’s just home to us Ice Clan folk.” Felicia answered with a fond smile.

So she was from an elemental clan, that explained the sudden storm yesterday. Yet if Hinoka understood fostering properly, it meant Felicia had been here in Vindam all the time she had been— yet she’d never seen her before yesterday, even at social events. The strangeness of that had her asking, "Do you ever visit Krackenstein castle? Or travel home?"

The pinkette’s smile grew stiff as she shook her head. "No... We’re encouraged to keep to our rooms in this tower when not attending lessons.”

That seemed odd for a highborn ward, especially since she knew the royal family traveled at least once a year. Before Hinoka could make further inquiries they’d reached the top of the stairs, and now stood on a landing before a closed door. The air felt colder here, and she was grateful that the heavy cloak staved off the chill. Felicia didn’t seem phased by the change in temperature at all as she drew out a key from a hidden pocket on the maid’s uniform, turned it in the lock, then grasped the door’s handle and opened it.

“Flora, I brought a guest,” she called out while retrieving her key.

The pinkette didn’t wait for a reply, instead she ushered them both inside and shut the door behind them. Rather than looking about the room Hinoka found herself fixated on the figure standing before a fireplace, the orange light casting shadows which danced with the movement of the flames. The lighting made her turn towards them rather dramatic, almost to the point that her face was unfamiliar— but all that time spent looking at Felicia’s face made it easy to find the similarities. Hinoka recognized that she had also seen her yesterday stifling the fire with ice.

The blue-haired woman looked past her and to her sister. “Felicia, really, we’re hardly prepared to entertain anyone. Are you trying to force me to turn them away?”

“Uaawah, but she needs a change of clothes!” Felicia’s hands parted the cloak and plucked at the front of her soaked uniform, pinching the fabric to hold up for show. “I accidentally spilled flower water on her.”

Flora finally looked at Hinoka, and she even bowed her head, “Please forgive my sister’s clumsiness and lack of manners. Who do we have the pleasure of receiving today?”

“It’s already forgiven.” Hinoka gave her best placating smile. “I am Hinoka, high princess of Hoshido and wife to Prince Marx.”

Both women grew tense, and their faces had gone even paler. Felicia actually stepped back as she said, “The C-Crown Prince is your h-husband?”

“Yes, he-”

The rest of her words were blown away, and Hinoka had to brace herself against a sudden of icy gust. Her vision blurred as the winds whipped at her eyes— not that it mattered much as the fire guttered out and plunged the room into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I can tell my audience why I've been using generic maids- in this verse Felicia and Flora's circumstances are different.
> 
> Hinoka falling off her tenma and almost dying is mentioned in [her support with Asama](http://megidoladying.tumblr.com/post/124993745434/asama-and-hinoka-supports-c-s). I personally think that it happens while she was still young and angry, to coincide with what’s mentioned when Hinoka’s talks with her tenma [about the state of her heart](http://pastebin.com/dQN7TUdW) and how they used to fight.
> 
> Sankin-kōtai was a policy from Japan’s Edo period, where the families of the regional lords wives and children were kept in the capital while the lords would spend half their time in the capital and half in their provinces. This kept the daimyos loyal to the central government and rapidly grew the size of the capital. Although in this fic’s case with Hoshido it’s currently less hostage keeping and more cooperation and loyalty indoctrination.


	16. Turn Of The Key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some possibly triggering content is in this chapter. If that concerns you, please read [this page](http://damoselceles.dreamwidth.org/6121.html#cutid1) where the warning is detailed. Know that the trigger listing also acts as mild spoilers for this chapter.
> 
> Originally posted 10/3/2016.

“Uaawah, Flora stop!”

As quickly as the icy wind came it suddenly ceased. Hinoka couldn't hold back a gasp at how the temperature of the already cool room had plunged to freezing, her body shivering despite the heavy cloak about her. With the barest of movement, she felt that the damp front of her uniform had become stiff and cold. She blinked until her eyes adjusted to the darkness, thankfully not total as slit windows high in the room's walls let in the day's cloudy light.

The women stood close together, the pinkette's arms looped around her sister. The fireplace behind them dimly glowed with dying embers of what moments ago had been a hearty blaze. She could barely make out their half-formed whispers and shaky breathing.

"W-what was t-that for?" Hinoka demanded through chattering teeth.

There was a half-choked sob and then shushing, before one of them said, "Please forgive us, Your Highness."

Hinoka sucked in the cold air as she watched both women sank to the ground— folded at the waist on their knees in an exaggerated bow. Their foreheads weren't quite touching the floor so it wasn't the prostration of her homeland, one to display deepest humility and absolute submission. Yet the way they bent and huddled low made it clear they were trying to show her the highest courtesy.

Flora kept her gaze towards the floor, voice wavering as she said, "We are ashamed of our offensive behavior towards our better. We will perform any penance you devise. But we beg you not to inform the Crown Prince-"

"Don't tell Their Majesties," Felicia turned up her face which was crumpled with the threat of tears. "Please!”

All outrage inside her faded as Hinoka realized that the women kneeling before her were terrified. They were both visibly shaking, but being members of an elemental clan she doubted it was because of the cold. Fighting against the shivers that’d gripped her body, Hinoka stutteringly spoke, “It was a-an accident, and I’d already a-accepted your apology. You w-weren’t aware of my s-standing so it’d be silly t-to hold such slights against either of you. I d-don’t see a need for anyone outside this r-room to know anything that’s happened b-between us.”

Thankfully the chattering of her teeth hadn’t seemed to have prevented understanding. Flora’s face finally turned up, while Felicia bobbed in a bow as she said, “Thank you, Princess Hin… ah.”

“Hinoka.” She gave them a smile, although it quivered. “N-now please stand. I’d like c-change out of these clothes. I t-think the water on them f-froze.”

The pinkette nodded, the high tail of her hair and lace cap bobbing with the motion, then she sat up. Yet rather than standing she turned around, grabbed a fire poker, and proceeded to rekindle the partly-burned wood. The blue-haired woman rose from the floor, discreetly dabbing at her eyes with the back of one hand. “I beg pardon for forcing you to witness such a disgraceful state.”

The Hoshidonese princess felt her brow raise. That phrasing was almost exact to how her lecturers had taught a formal apology was to be delivered in the case of losing self-control. It had her giving an equally protocolled reply, “None i-is needed.”

After another tight smile, she turned her back towards them and used the cloak it as a makeshift changing screen. Once her uniform had been removed she handed it over, Flora took and neatly laid out on the flagstones before the fireplace. Through the remaining embers Felicia had managed to stoke the fire back to life with the quick efficiency and was adding new bits of firewood to build it back up. It made Hinoka wonder if rather than waiting on servants that these two saw to the fire themselves.

Both women back away from the fireplace, and Felicia offered her a seat— not on a high-backed chair, instead motioning to a collection of knitted, woolen rugs. Hinoka thanked them then lowered herself to sit on the rug closest to the fireplace, hunching towards the burning wood with the lent cloak gathered tightly. Flowers of frost covered the flagstones and glittered in the dancing light, but slowly began to melt. Unable to do much else, she allowed her eyes to wander about the room.

It was circular, which only made since considering it was in a tower. While most Nohrian architecture had high ceilings this one's felt almost cavernous with how it reached up to out-of-reach rafters. That impression likely also came from sparse furnishings, unlike her husband's crowded rooms. Here Hinoka only found a singular wardrobe, one mirror of glass mostly obscured by black spots, a small writing desk and chair framed by neatly piled heaps of tattered books, a few spindly end tables, two low benches covered in sewing supplies, while most of the floor space was taken up by one high-framed bed and a mattress heaped with embroidered pillows and threadbare sheets. Only scattered personal possessions kept the room feeling lived-in rather than desolate.

While she’d been taking in the room Flora had filled a metal kettle and set it on a hook over the renewed flames. Felicia had stood and gone over to the bed, pulled off its duvet, then returned and threw it about Hinoka’s shoulders. Gratefully she wormed out her hand, drew the blanket tighter, and realized that it was a quilt made from fabric of varying blues with white embroidered patterns more angular than any she'd seen before. The careful stitching and elaborate symmetry were far beyond anything Hinoka had accomplished on her own patchwork with Camilla back in Shirazaki.

She thanked the women as they both lowered themselves onto the rug across from her. The way in which they sat, with their legs curled to the side and ankles crossed was peculiar compared to the Hoshidan method. It made her curious about how else their cultures and habits differed.

Her musings were interrupted as Felicia suddenly said, “You have such pretty hair! I’ve never seen this color on anyone before.”

“Thank you, I inherited it from my mother,” she replied, relieved that the fire had warmed her enough that her teeth no longer chattered. Hinoka took the opportunity to look her hostesses over.

Although these sisters shared a face and height, one had long, thick hair while the other’s looked fine that ended around her shoulders. From the walk to the tower she knew Felicia’s eyes to be sky blue but in the firelight Hinoka couldn’t quite guess the color of Flora’s, though the shade seemed paler and cooler. They were attractive, with wide eyes and their features had a softness most Nohrian’s lacked.

Before she could give them a compliment in turn, Flora bowed her head. “Please excuse our rudeness in not introducing ourselves to you yesterday, Princess Hinoka."

The apology had her pausing for a moment, before she shook her head. “None is needed. There were far more important things to be done. Thank you for putting out that fire yesterday.”

The blue-haired woman looked a little on uncertain how to respond but eventually settled on nodding. Although there was a tension to both women’s frames, Flora’s was more nervous by far. Not wanting this entire wait while her clothing dried to consist of apologies, Hinoka chose a topic with hopes of building rapport, "Felicia mentioned you attend lessons. May I ask what for?"

Without hesitation Felicia answered, “Nohrian etiquette, history, governance, household management, and some other things.”

“Thankfully, they trust our competency in combat and embroidery at this point," Flora said, sounding tired.

That tiredness struck a chord with Hinoka’s own feelings towards the instruction, and had her suddenly bold with an idea. "I’m taking some of those classes. We should attend together then!” They both gave her shocked looks, but she wouldn’t let this opportunity pass her by. “Please, those classes are torturous, and friendly faces would help me survive it."

Momentarily the sisters leaned close, whispering to each other. When they sat properly again, Flora met Hinoka’s gaze and said, "I’m afraid we lack permission to travel to Krackenstein castle, otherwise I would enquire, Princess Hinoka."

"Oh…” Hinoka nibbled at her lip in thought. “Who could grant you permission?"

Felicia looked almost alarmed. “I-it’s not important! Instead you could visit us-”

“We would need Queen Ektrina’s approval to leave the Northern Citadel,” said Flora, her tone made it clear that she thought such a thing to be impossible.

As she said it, Hinoka felt like a bumbling fool. Felicia had told her that they kept to this tower— so she should’ve expected they couldn’t leave the Northern Citadel. And as such, she should’ve understood that placed them under the authority of Nohr’s queen just like the other women who lived here. She'd had lessons on Nohrian politics which covered the royal seraglio and its power dynamics. Even if the entire concept confused her, allowing herself to forget meant rude missteps like the one she’d just made.

Hinoka sighed, “It seems my proposal would just cause trouble for you both."

“I'm sure our problems are nothing compared to yours,” Flora said. Her voice was smooth, perfectly polite. Yet Hinoka’s many years spent navigating Shirazaki’s court had her noticing an undercurrent in her tone that could pull one under, quick as a riptide.

Hissing came from the fireplace as the kettle burbled, Flora removed it from its hook and poured the steaming water into a teacup of chipped porcelain. She held it out to Hinoka and said, "Apologies that we cannot offer better than hot water."

“Thank you, this is just what I want.” Hinoka eagerly accepted the cup and wrapped her numb fingers about its sides, savoring the tingle from its radiating warmth. The scar on her right palm twinged at the heat, but she stubbornly kept her grip tight as she raised the rim to her lips and sipped. It tasted as metallic as its plume of steam smelled.

Felicia had retrieved a jar from the mantle, removed its lid, and lowered it towards her in offering. “Your Highness, please try one of these cloudberry jam cookies! We make them ourselves, it’s an old family recipe.”

Hinoka accepted the offering, reaching in and drawing out a cookie. With some trepidation she tasted the foreign confection. It was very sweet, both the crunchy wafers and the jam in between— though the latter was both tart and creamy in a way she'd never tasted from a fruit before. She gave her compliments to the chef which had Felicia beaming once more. As Hinoka sipped and ate more cookies long moments passed sitting in the heat of the flames, and her full-body shivers subsided and she no longer felt blue with cold.

Meanwhile Felicia had retaken her seat and chattered inoffensive small talk, while Flora seemed content to sit in silence.

The blue-haired woman's outfit was very unlike Nohrian fashion. Covering her feet were shoes the like Hinoka had never seen before, their toes charmingly curled. In addition, the dress’s high collar was a fringed shawl. Unlike popular gowns, the dress’ flowing skirt ended midcalf and its bodice merely followed the angle of the shoulders and curve of the chest rather than exposing either. In contrast to solemn black, the majority of its fabric was a bright blue hemmed by geometric patterns of vivid red, yellow, and white— all of which brought out the delicate color of Flora’s hair.

Hinoka quite liked the ensemble. "Your dress is beautiful."

Flora appeared taken aback, but Felicia actually clapped her hands. "Oh, that old thing? We'll have to show you the nicer gákti that have broaches, ribbon work, and band-woven belts-"

“Felicia,” her sister interrupted, tone chiding. The addressed quieted, immediately looking chastised. Flora looked to the damp article of clothing spread out before the fireplace, and murmured, “Your clothes aren’t Nohrian.”

Something about her tone sounded like an emotion close to surprise and... possibly resentment. It had Hinoka keeping her own voice neutral as she replied, “True, that’s the uniform for tenma warriors in service to Hoshido’s army.”

“How exciting!” Felicia fairly squeaked, leaning forward. “I’ve never met a Hoshidan warrior before.”

Her sincerity had Hinoka smiling. “I’ve only met members of the Wind Clan, so the feeling is mutual.”

Before they could say anything further Flora interjected, “It’s fortunate you’re allowed to wear your people’s fashion.”

Hinoka resisted frowning, and instead asked, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

The women exchanged a glance, then Flora shook her head. “It would be impertinent for one such as myself to say, Your Highness.”

The Hoshidonese princess held in another sigh. The blue-haired woman was likely the least forthcoming person she’d met since coming to live in Nohr. Not a bad trait in itself but it piqued her curiosity terribly and had her wanting to search out the truth.

Indulging the urge, the Hoshidonese princess met her gaze and said, “Honestly, I find Nohrian fashion strange. It’s a relief to see more variety.”

Flora looked away first and tugged at the fringed shawl about her shoulders. However, what she said next had Hinoka following her gaze down. “Even after your uniform thaws and dries it will be terribly wrinkled. It would be wrong of us to force you out dressed in it. After all, a woman's appearance is the mark of her character.”

The pinkette sent a puzzled look, but her sister didn’t even glance her way as she continued, “If you truly approve of our Clan’s fashion, might you accept a gákti to borrow?”

By the time Hinoka’s uniform had warmed and dried she’d learned much about the Ice Clan’s shepherding, wool spinning, and ice cutting— but very little about the sisters themselves. They were largely a mystery, and against her better judgement, she wanted to solve it. Just who were these young women who lived in a tower and why were they fostered to Queen Ektrina?

The Hoshidonese princess pondered this as she climbed down the steps with her uniform folded over her crooked arm, while also silently appreciating the lent dress and its high hem. For she remembered the day of the spring tournament and how the back of the Nohrian gown had swept the ground like a broom, gathering dust and dirt as she walked. It'd been like navigating the long train of a jūnihitoe all over again. For all that gown’s elegance, she much preferred the practicality of a skirt that didn’t trail over the floor.

She’d gone half-way down the tower stairs when she encountered a man who indolently leaned against the wall with his crossed legs blocking the way. It didn’t even take a moment for her to recognize Leo’s audacious retainer. Before she could say anything, his head turned towards her. "My, my, what a pretty dress. So, Princess, found the forbidden fruit have you?"

Hinoka didn’t bother to hide her frown. "Pardon?"

"Those girls from Freezia, Felicia and her twin sister.” Zero gestured upward, to room which was beyond sight. “They're pretty much confined to the tower and this part of the citadel rarely entertains visitors."

"Confined?” Despite his breezy tone Hinoka felt like he was telling her something significant. “You make it sound like they're prisoners."

His thin lips spread to reveal a crooked-toothed smile. "Aren't they?”

Her eyes narrowed. "I was told they were being fostered here and have been since they were children."

"Mmm, suppose that's true in a way, but... would you say they’re being treated as proper highborns?” Zero paused, purposefully. “It’s such a pity, Felicia can be quite charming when not tripping over herself."

Hinoka exhale hard, tired of talking in circles. "Why're _you_ here, Zero?"

He took a long moment to answer, perhaps wanting her imagination to run wild. When he spoke his voice was heavy with insinuation, "...I have liaisons with them, well, with Felicia. Flora's not keen to entertain people like me.”

“Visitations, really?” She couldn’t keep the skepticism out of her voice.

“You make it sound like a crime to just drop by and keep an eye on things. To provide company for lonely people." Zero’s tongue ran over the tips of his teeth and his single eye glinted in his dark face. “That’s why you’re here in the Northern Citadel isn’t it, Princess Hinoka? You’re lonely. Were you hoping to find some friends?”

At his blatant taunting, she rolled her shoulders and shifted her weight onto the balls of her feet. “You presume much. Should I tell Prince Leo about the company you keep?”

Hinoka nearly stepped back as he pushed himself away from the wall with a harsh laugh, towering over her. “Go head and tattle, Your Highness. Perhaps you’ll find out for yourself that my prince can be quite generous.”

From his flippant tone the Hoshidonese princess was sure he hadn’t meant that as a threat, but the wording left her uneasy. Still she looked him in the eye and plainly said, “I don’t want you playing with Felicia and Flora’s feelings, nor do I want to risk hurting my brother-in-law.”

Surprise had wiped the grin from his face, and Leo’s retainer looked at her with a different sort of consideration. When Zero spoke again, it was without a hint of mockery, “If you really want to change the Freezian girls’ circumstances you could take them on as your ladies-in-waiting.”

"Is this truly the only information gained?" Garon asked, as he paced back and forth like a predator on the prowl.

Marx couldn’t help but stare beyond him. To where the wooden surface of the king's desk was completely obscured by piles and piles of parchment, most of which were likely unaddressed. The build-up was understandable with how busy this spring had been— the planning and performance of the wedding, their efforts to root out criminal gangs from the city, the investigation into the assassination attempt on his and then his wife's life. There'd hardly been a moment for routine to be reintroduced and settled.

The Nohrian prince didn't begrudge his father for falling behind on paperwork. This behavior only emerged when Garon was frustrated by lack of progress in an endeavor. He would set everything aside to try and surmount the trial at hand. As irritating as Advisor Iago was, the man knew how to sort missives and petitions by matters of importance— thus the stacks on the desks were all petty matters that could wait.

An agitated gesture from the king knocked him from thoughts of the documents on his own desk. Marx answered, "Yes, father."

He had mentally reviewed everything he could remember and had concluded that Ganz had been speaking in half-truths. If he'd been lying outright it wouldn't have agitated Marx so. While most of what he'd said proved uselessly vague, the criminal had been arrogant enough to let some significant facts slip.

Firstly, was the poison. Lornvipers could only be found in the Devil’s Bog, which took a little over a week's travel south by land to reach from Vindam. The snakes were rare to begin with, which made the venom difficult and expensive to get a hold of. It explained why they hadn't been able to identify it earlier. His father had already agreed to dispatch agents to investigate the apothecaries within the city, hopefully records of purchases would produce a lead.

Secondly, concerned the anti-Hoshido factions. Many Nohrians held grudges against their kingdom's new ally, some even to the extent of damning any with ancestry from the eastern half of the continent. Marx found it irrational, but couldn't deny the evidence that people were willing to fund criminal gangs to try and remove the possibility of Nohr having a Hoshido-born queen. The name Ganz had repeated would be looked into, especially among the wealthy of the city.

The third he hadn’t… been able to fully report. Although he’d admitted to being defeated and made helpless in the Red Horn’s den, his nerve had given out on telling his father about the doubts he was a husband in more than name and the threat of being unmanned. It was humiliating to even think about. The entire experience had left Marx rattled, like something had been shaken apart inside his skin.

Garon came to a halt and stood before Marx with his hands clasped behind his back, a habit Leo that often emulated. There was a stiffness to his posture and the way his lips were pursed into an even thinner line than usual, which made clear he was not pleased. “Then that mission truly was a fool’s gambit. While we’ve flushed out the underground, now the slums, the biggest rat escaped and won’t return to a hiding hole he set fire to. You failed the main objective.”

Marx had to swallow against a dry throat. "Our double agent had been compromised, the tournament left me fatigued and unarmed. I should’ve returned after finding the location, rather than maintaining the rouse."

"Such poor judgement is unbefitting of a crown prince." The disapproval in Garon’s voice, although closely held in check, was palpable. Under it Marx felt as if his insides had been scooped out and replaced with sawdust. His father gave a scoffing chuckle, “Fortunately for you, few will ever know. It sounds like Sumeragi's daughter was more thrilled with playing hero than ashamed of how she found the warrior she’d married, hm?”

Every time they met alone, somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, Marx knew his father would find fault with him. No matter the effort he'd put forth, he was under no delusion of obtaining perfection. And in the face of what'd happened after the tournament, he didn't have the right to object to any criticism. So Marx clenched his hands and forced himself to nod.

When he kept silent, Garon _tsk_ ed with disapproval, “If you’re going to sulk at least go out and be useful while you do.” He then turned away in clear dismissal.

Marx bowed and left the king’s private solar. As he walked away from his father’s rooms he took measured breaths and focused on moving his feet to keep his mind empty. However, thoughts managed to slip through, mostly centered on the fact that the time since he’d been completely healed had been ceaselessly occupied. If not one thing, then it was another. As much as failure and his father’s disappointment twisted shame through his gut, there wasn’t time to dwell upon it. Marx didn't need time to feel sorry for himself. He needed to be strong.

Soon enough the Nohrian prince found himself outside, headed towards the training grounds— and it was exactly what he needed. The physical action of swordplay was second nature to him, something he didn't have to think about, something he knew how to control. Yet as he approached the building that housed training equipment a sight brought Marx up short. His younger brother was propped almost indolently across the doorway, blocking all entry. His attention was occupied by the open book in his hands, but he must've heard the gravel crunching underfoot as Marx approached.

His guess was proven right as a greeting was sent, “Brother.”

“Leo.” Marx uncurled his hands from white-knuckled fists and ignored the ache in his fingers. “Were you waiting for me?”

His brother finally closed the book, looked at him, and shrugged. “I had a hunch you might show up here. Father has Iago questioning the gang members we captured in the outer ring. He’ll be occupied for quite a long time.”

That knowledge had relief washing through Marx, as he realized his report and upbraiding would’ve been hellish if the sorcerer had been present for it. He muttered, “If only he would stay in those dungeons.”

At his words Leo fought against a dimpled smile. “It’s certainly where the craven belong.”

As Leo stood he ducked to avoid hitting the eaves of the doorframe. His height was only a head shorter than Marx’s own and he had a feeling since he was still a few years from twenty that his brother hadn't finished growing, despite the petite frame of concubine Blanche. It made Marx wonder if he might outgrow his current set of mage knight armor by this time next year.

"It would've been better if you'd been with us.” Leo said, making it clear he’d known exactly why their father had summoned Marx for a private talk. “While our raids over those two days were mostly successful, you could spend a lifetime and not finish cleaning up that place.”

There was more violent crime in Vindam's outer ring than there was in any of the other districts combined. The constant influx of immigrants to the city and citizens with low income being forced to find affordable lodging made the district overcrowded and almost impossible to keep documented. Gangs pressing newcomers for protection money was a more likely occurrence than the official city guard breaking up disputes. It’d been an issue since their Uncle Gavril’s regency. Much of Garon’s reign had been consolidating his claim and position, then drastically changing Nohr’s policies towards other nations— thus Vindam’s outer ring had declined into slums.

"We're going to change that,” Marx said with confidence. Because he was determined to make it happen, so that anyone might walk the city without fear.

His brother’s eyes full of admiration rather than doubt. Under that supportive look the earlier shame Marx felt somewhat diminished, but still he glanced into the shed a bit impatiently. Leo, however, didn’t move aside. Instead he clasped his hands behind his back and asked, “Rather than destroying practice dummies, why don’t we go out on patrol?”

Marx realized his brother had laid in wait to offer a way to vent and be useful, and it had him smiling. “It has been a while since we’ve ridden out, just the two of us.”

Leo nodded and they both began to walk toward the armory. “I’ll summon Nyx to accompany us.”

“Not your other retainer?”

"I’m still having Zero keep an eye on the citadel.” Leo scowled towards the north, as if in reprimand. “Is it true that Princess Hinoka publicly wore Ice Clan garb the other day?”

Marx took a deep breath and held it. When he’d finally received a staff’s healing magic and been able to shed his disguise, he’d returned to his rooms only to find a Freezian dress laid out upon their bed. The sight of it had catapulted him back to that bloody battlefield covered in snow and he’d been preparing to throw it in the fire before Hinoka had returned and stayed his hand. When she’d told him about her intentions to take the Freezians on as ladies-in-waiting he’d taken a sharper tone than he should’ve and his wife had criticized his order to release Pieri— it hadn’t been the happy reunion he’d been hoping for.

After a slow exhale he answered, “…my wife doesn’t understand the implications of associating with the Ice Clan yet. By the time I’d found out, Princess Hinoka had already sent a missive to my mother in Forres.”

Leo cocked his head to the side. "Queen Ektrina is that close to Chevalier? Trouble must've flared up again along the border."

Marx merely nodded. A little over twelve years ago Garon had elevated Chevalier from a tributary of Nohr to an official territory with full rights for its citizens. With its location beside the largest desert on the southwest side of the continent the Chevon guilds for glasswork— blowing, tinting, and mosaics —were never in need of outside resources. It's tribute and soldiers had been one of the most reliable, and now as a County it was secure and financially well off despite its governor’s title being relatively new.

Problems, however, had arisen within sectors of its populace— some seeing themselves more as Chevon than Nohrian. The most prominent were those who paid too little taxes, alongside people who flouted officials with Nohrian backing. Most troubling was the increasing refusal to levy men for the army, often justified by a rallying cry for complete autonomy. With Chevalier's long tradition of wyvern breeding and knighthood, it'd be a substantial blow to lose them altogether.

His mother's birth family, the high house of Sensk, held large tracks of land right beside Chevalier. Ektrina had even received training there in her youth rather than under a Nohrian instructor. The Queen held many ties there, it only made sense that she would look into problems personally and propose solutions. Even if Marx wished his mother could be solely focused on the problems within Vindam.

Leo heaved a sigh. "Hopefully, that business will be concluded before Father decides to step in. He has little empathy for Freezia even when they're on their best behavior."

"The King gave Chieftain Kilma's daughters over to the Queen's keeping, so he will abide by whatever decision she makes." Marx had accepted that fact long ago, and had been relieved by the separation at the time. Although with Hinoka’s sudden interest it all might change. Marx asked, "Leo, why was your retainer at the Northern Citadel the other day?”

“I'm worried by the frequency Princess Hinoka visits there." On the surface Leo's tone was neutral, but Marx heard the turmoil hidden underneath. "You know my mother's never given up her ambition of seeing me on the throne. It's why she pushed me to compete against you all, despite the fact Father had you chosen as heir when I was hardly out of the nursery. She’s never cared what _I_ want."

Leo had been five years old when the betrothal had been made. Under normal circumstances he'd have been given a chance to grow, to hone his skills, and display them with a chance of being found worthy for the crown. However, in order to satisfy the stipulations of the alliance Marx had been made crown prince before such testings could've been convened. It'd been a huge insult to tradition, and most of their father's concubines had reacted poorly to their child's opportunity for the throne being eliminated.

Marx didn't allow his mind to dwell on dark childhood memories. Instead, he clasped his brother’s shoulder and said, “I trust you, Leo. You are a prince of Nohr. No one can stop you from taking hold of happiness when you find it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hinoka's memory of a patchwork blanket is from her sewing lessons with Camilla the year before as referenced in [Tread Softly On Dreams](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7525537).
> 
> For the Ice Clan I'm taking a lot of inspiration from the indigenous peoples of northern Europe with how their fashion and culture might differ from Nohr at large, in addition to other things. This [Sami dress](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/42/80/9a/42809a5ac5c3732a615f181ce7548578.jpg) is what I had in mind for Flora's dress.
> 
> Marx's strangely early appointment as crown prince was mentioned back in [Chapter 6](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4370321/chapters/12313172). It's an AU difference, since I genuinely think in-game the Nohr sibs were forced to compete against each other until Marx won out.


	17. Debt To Be Paid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some possibly triggering content is in this chapter. If that concerns you, please read [this page](http://damoselceles.dreamwidth.org/6186.html#cutid1) where the warning is detailed. Know that the trigger listing also acts as mild spoilers for this chapter.
> 
> Originally posted 7/14/2017.

“Milords, we should make a stop here.” 

It was more the movement of Nyx’s arm as she pointed rather than her spoken words that caught Marx’s attention. The three of them currently rode through Vindam’s central district, which was comprised of the innermost wall before one could reach Krackenstein castle. It was well-patrolled with residents made up of either of those with peerage, the highborn, or the wealthiest citizens. No vagrants or petty thieves could hope to pass the gate proper with its reinforced iron doors, ballista, mage orbs, and standing guard both martially and magically trained. It was the farthest cry from the conditions of the capital’s outer ring, where they’d just conducted a satisfyingly productive patrol.

While neither of their horses were currently at a gallop, they were moving at a steady clip and the clacking of metal horseshoes against cobblestone drowned out most other sounds. So he tugged back on the reigns until Froh slowed to a walk, and Leo quickly did the same with his mare. 

The crown prince looked to the sorceress perched behind his brother and asked, “What makes you say that, Nyx?”

“Brother, surely you haven’t forgotten that she’s a fortuneteller?” Leo’s tone was indulgent if edging on teasing, but Marx didn’t rise to the bait.

Despite Nyx’s small stature and unassuming mien, her reputation preceded her… just as his brother had undoubtedly desired when he’d made her his retainer. 

Marx could still remember when Leo had taken his first retainer, how displeased Concubine Blanche had been with his choice of a low-born sneakthief. How the woman had hounded his brother to be rid of the man and find someone with better reputation. Leo had obeyed his mother, in part. He’d not dismissed Zero but rather sought out an infamous spellcaster— one that sounded more legend than reality. It’d seemed like folly, his attempt to find a ghost story. Yet within that same year his brother had presented the Dark Sorceress at high court as his next choice for a retainer. 

Rumors had immediately flown— that Nyx had countless deaths to her name, that she’d had congress with the Devil for knowledge beyond mortal ken, that she knew the secret to youth eternal. Although they remained just that, rumors, her reputation had proved too fearsome for any to openly speak against. So the second prince had out-maneuvered the second concubine, gained a powerful servant, and even the crown prince remained unknowing of how he’d won Nyx’s loyalty.

The reminder that the sorceress was a fortuneteller was unnecessary, as Marx didn’t forget such things. Nyx was capable, dangerously so, and not only with spells on the battlefield. It was well known that despite not being a seer pledged to be the Dusk Dragon’s eyes, that she had visions of the future through reading cards and other mediums. 

“Does this have to do with a premonition?” Marx looked to her small face. 

Nyx’s reddish eyes narrowed at his doubt, expressive enough to reveal what might’ve otherwise been hidden by her veil. “My powers go beyond vague feelings, Crown Prince. To silence your doubts, understand that the high house of Vashvil rents this particular apartment.”

Leo chuckled as Marx reigned Froh to halt, but the sorceress was right— it could only benefit them to pay Pieri’s family visit. His younger brother didn’t protest, simply unmounted and assisted Nyx off the saddle while Marx tied their horses at the nearest hitching post.

As they approached the front door he took note of how it was a building directly facing the road, undesirable because of the noise and too much ease of access. Most courtiers who lived within the city loved nothing more than the absurdity that came from forcing guests to traverse a long walk and observe the wealth displayed in the property around them. Whereas here, in a couple of paces they were before the blue painted door knocking, then Nyx audaciously turned the apparently unlocked doorknob and entered without ceremony. After Leo did likewise with little more than a shrug, Marx swallowed his protests and followed suit.

Surprisingly, there was little sign of anyone inside, no servant rushing for the door. A couple uncurtained windows, their wavy glass panes impossible to see through clearly, let in the daylight yet the room contained no lanterns for more illumination to the interior. Like most apartments within the central district it was modestly sized, yet the receiving room they stood in didn’t seem small. Marx concluded that was because of the sparse furnishings and a distinct lack of many possessions in general lent the false impression of space. While it appeared clean and tidy, there was also a drabness to the carpets on the floor and the upholstery of the furniture that suggested they’d seen many years of wear. 

This threadbare state made sense with what Marx had been told, of how Pieri’s family had lost land and fortune, that they would also sell personal property was merely the next step. From the critical look Leo cast about, he’d come to a similar conclusion. Nyx on the other hand wasn’t bothering to observe their surroundings at all, instead stood with her eyes closed and motionless as if in a trance.

As quiet as they were, it allowed the Nohrian prince to hear footsteps approaching from the interior— and the strangeness of the sound. There was length of time suspended between the initial step and the next, which was somewhat short of a full stride. Then the weight: the first what he’d expect from a full-grown adult, while the second sounded decidedly heavier. Finally, was the texture of the latter, a tapping sort of hardness he’d more associate with a cane than any soled shoe.

The sound led him to spying the figure approaching them from out of the dark interior, illuminated by a singular candle. It was an older man in extravagant clothing that might’ve been fashionable a decade ago, whose greying hair was gathered back by a white ribbon. His height was difficult to discern with how he walked in a lopsided gait, a wooden clack following booted footfalls— then Marx realized he had only one natural lower leg.

When he drew close to the entryway, the man called out with a wavering lilt. “Honored guests, please excuse the wait. I’m afraid we haven’t kept a domestic staff for many years now.”

Before either prince could speak, Nyx replied, “The honor is ours. We arrived unannounced and won’t burden you with needless hospitality, Peitro Vashvil.”

“You are a polite little lady. But surely these gentlemen wish for a drink or some sustenance…” As Lord Vashvil stepped into the light of the receiving room, he readjusted the round spectacles perched upon the bridge of his nose and visibly balked. “Your Royal Highnesses!” He gave a wobbly bow, his peg leg all the more evident in how he stood with his weight shifted to one side. “I shall go and retrieve proper refreshments-”

Marx interrupted, “No need for that, Lord Vashvil. We only wish for the time to speak with you.” 

“I-if my lord insists.” Lord Vashvil laughed, seemingly at his own expense. “Please, do not stay standing!”

He turned and lit several more candles which revealed the furniture upon which to sit. The Nohrian princes took their seats together on a small couch with was most in the window’s light, while their host took a tall-backed chair that appeared to be the most worn out of the bunch. Leo’s retainer declined a seat and instead stood beside the couch’s arm closest to the second prince.

Once they were all settled Lord Vashvil’s right foot bounced against the floor and caused his leg to move in a constant, anxious tic. It seemed impatient energy was a family trait. Marx looked closely at the man’s face, recognizing some features like the wide set mouth and thin lips. The blue still in his hair was the same shade he recalled Pieri’s being.  
The nobleman cleared his throat, not having missed the inspection. “Forgive this old man’s impertinence, but to what do I owe this visit?”

“There are several matters we’d like clarified. Firstly, where is Lady Pieri?”

“My daughter hasn’t left her room since she’d returned from competing in the arena.” 

Marx felt a bit of tension ease at those words, glad that Pieri hadn’t gone missing after the incident with Ganz. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Leo sent him a questioning look.

“I’ll go talk with the girl. I doubt she’s in any state to receive male guests.” Nyx said and then strode away into the dark with a shake of her long hair.

Marx waited until attention was back on him, then said, “The second matter, is that I would like to know how your high house came to be in its current state.”

“So that’s it then, I’m finally to be taken to account.” Lord Vashvil heaved a great sigh and shifted in his seat. “I shall start from the beginning then…”

He told them the story of his life— how he was common born but had entered into the service of Garon’s army back when their father had been battling against usurpers. How during that time he’d met a lady mage, Berri Vashvil, who’d later brought him into her high house through marriage. Following Garon’s coronation, he’d retired from the army to compete in grand jousts and won many tournament prizes. 

“Pardon the interruption, Lord Vashvil.” Leo had folded his hands across his lap, and Marx knew it was to prevent his fingers from fidgeting out of boredom. “But your tale sounds idyllic. What changed your good fortunes?”

“Ah, beg pardon, I meandered in the good memories. The change all started with this,” the nobleman rapped his knuckles against the wood of the peg leg. “Lost it when my horse was fell and pinned me underneath. My wife brought me home and hired extra servants to see to my care… One of them was not sound of mind. He murdered Berri in our villa’s kitchen. My daughter found the body, and was just a small child then.”

Lord Vashvil fell silent, obviously overwrought with emotion.

“And as one not born to a high house, you had no knowledge of how to run an estate,” Leo said, likely trying to solve the puzzle of the house’s current poverty.

“C-correct. My wife had been the one to keep the household accounts, and I’d frankly been overwhelmed with grief.” The noblemen drew in a shaky inhale. “At that time I was not Berri’s only husband, there was also a highborn fellow named Fillippe. I’d assumed he’d run things, but they’d had no heirs together and he didn’t consider Pieri his own child. So after Berri was gone, he simply packed up and left. The kicker is, he took important deeds with him— stole them! He made the situation unsalvageable!”

The subject was clearly working the older man into a frenzy, despite as pitiable as he was Marx cut in, “Then you lay the blame for your misfortune on this man, rather than the Red Horns.”

Lord Vashvil flinched at mention of the criminal gang’s name, and began sputtering denials. When Leo glanced Marx met his eye, confirming this had been his true aim. His younger brother leaned back to get comfortable as Marx allowed the nobleman to give one halting excuse after another.

Once he spied sweat visibly beading upon the older man’s brow, Marx said, “It is a form of treason to lie to representatives of the crown.”

Lord Vashvil shifted out of his chair and fell heavily onto his knees, the spectacles falling from his face as he bowed his head low. “Please, Your Royal Highnesses, let punishment fall on my unworthy head alone! I beg you to spare my daughter.”

Regret flashed through his mind for pushing the man so far. Marx looked to his brother. Leo merely shrugged, as if the entire scene didn’t concern him. Whatever happened here, no mention would be made of it outside these walls.

So the Nohrian crown prince softened his tone as he said, “Lift your head, Lord Vashvil, I’ve no intention to imprison either of you.” He waited as the nobleman thanked him and regained his seat. “This is the third and final matter. We know that you borrowed money from lenders within Vindam and of your debt. In order to be free of it, please tell us everything about your encounters with the Red Horns.”

Hinoka tiredly rubbed her temples and forehead with the heels of her palms. Even closed as they were, her eyes felt gritty from reading the Nohrian text the tutors had set before her— all morning, one thick tome after another. The lessons had been focused on the kingdom’s history, particularly its expansion by conquering the surrounding territories. Her tutors had her reviewing battle records, military awards, and tributary integration with a thoroughness that’d taken far longer than necessary in Hinoka’s opinion. She’d done her best to prevent the lessons from being completely lecture by giving input and commentary, but some of her comments had merely garnered haughty scowls and unnecessary review of the material. The tedium of it had made the day crawl by.

Eventually, the tutors had noticed her lack of concentration and it’d proved enough of an excuse to end her lessons for the day. Hinoka had retreated to the one place she knew would remain undisturbed— the crown prince’s private rooms. Currently she was sitting with her legs comfortably folded on her favorite seat in the solar. It was a low, lounging couch like the ones in the castle’s library. This piece of furniture was a relatively new addition, having appeared not too long after her first meeting with Leo. It’d become one of her favorite places to relax. Marx had never commented on its presence, but she had no doubt he'd brought it in for her. 

A noise of frustration escaped the Hoshidonese princess at the thought of her husband, and she discovered herself thankful he wasn’t currently present to hear her make it.

Since Hinoka had stopped him from burning the Freezian dress, there’d been an unresolved tension between them. One where silences went unbridged. While she knew he wasn't angry with her, it was obvious that more than one thing had upset him and still weighed on his mind. However, in his usual reserved way, Marx was locking those emotions away rather than dealing with it openly. As a wife she should've been trying to help and resolve any worries... but Hinoka couldn't bring herself to while feeling so cross. 

Part of her wished he'd just yell, like Takumi had when they were younger, and get their argument over with. As soon as she turned the thought over, Hinoka realized Marx had only ever raised his voice at her once— that moment more intense than any loud fights with her little brother had been. The scar on her right palm twinged at a particularly hard press, and she let her hands fall from her face to her lap.

When she heard the door open and footsteps pad inside, the Hoshidonese princess turned and found Mozume carrying a tray with a set appropriate for the Nohrian tradition of afternoon tea. On an unoccupied portion of the couch her handmaid set down the tray with the bone-porcelain pot and cups, with much more poise compared to when they’d first arrived a few months ago. She picked up the long spouted teapot and poured a cupful with steady hands.

“Thank you.” Hinoka took up the teacup and sipped, savoring the hot brew. However, halfway through the drink she noticed the way the freckled brunette held herself— shoulders stiff and fingers fretting. “Is something troubling you?”

Her handmaid stiffly shook her head. “Jus’ heard some gossip. Nothin’ a matter, Yer Highness.” 

Holding in a sigh, Hinoka set the teacup onto its saucer. Sitting up, she took the pot from Mozume and put it back onto the tray. Then she held her hands and entreated, “Please, speak freely. You know how much I owe you for accompanying me to Nohr, Mozume.”

“Princess, yer the one doin’ me a kindness! The High Princess an’ tenma warriors saved me from…” She grew quiet and the Hoshidonese princess didn’t blame her from leaving it unspoken.

Although it had happened more than two years ago, Hinoka remembered the day vividly where her squad had received word that bandits were attacking a small village southwest of their patrol along Hoshido’s border. The caste laws had forbidden peasants from carrying weapons, so they’d flown with all haste to defend them. Sadly, it’d proved too late. When they'd arrived it'd been to the tail-end of a massacre and only a handful of huts standing enough to still burn. After they'd ridden the remaining attackers down, at first they'd assumed the bandits to be wholly comprised of local rōnin. Desperate men were the most dangerous kind, after all. Yet when examining the dead, they'd found faces with distinctly un-Hoshidan features. Most had labeled the foreigners as Nohrians or other westerners, but Hinoka and a few had suspected those bodies having come from Fuuma instead.

During this search, it'd only been by the grace of the gods that Mozume had been found, barely clinging to life under the corpse of her mother. That’d been the same day Hinoka had learned the basics to using a festal, although she lacked the magical stamina to apply powerful healing as Sakura had been training for. Once the young villager had been brought away from death’s door, Hinoka had personally flown her to Shirazaki for better care— and she had ended up staying there as her guest. Only when Hinoka had started preparations to travel to Nohr for her wedding had Mozume begged to go with her, thus had been appointed as her handmaid.

“After, I didn’t know what ta do. Workin’ the fields woulda felt… wrong, with Ma an’ e’rbody gone. Servin’ is hard work, but s’a good way ta live.” The look in Mozume’s eyes hardened. “I gotta tell ya, Princess Hinoka. What I heard ‘em sayin’ in the servants’ halls, ‘bout those gals ya want as ladies-in-waitin’.”

“Oh?” Hinoka sat up a little straighter at the thought of people talking about her. It was nothing new, as much of her behavior had been considered unbecoming for a royal princess of Hoshido. After she’d formally announced her intention to become a tenma knight, the feudal lords had made her into the butt of many a jest. However, here in Nohr it seemed Flora and Felicia occupied such a position. Curious to know even a little of what was being said, she nodded for her handmaid to continue.

Mozume shared all she'd overheard, blushing at some of the rude words that she assured weren't hers: That despite the Queen's best efforts they hadn't accepted a single invitation to a formal event. That they clung to backwards beliefs and outdated thinking. That they dressed like doudy, old widows without for proper fashion. That no good company would keep them as Freezians were naturally frigid. 

It all sounded biased to Hinoka. Felicia had been pleasant and friendly, and even in her colder moments Flora had been perfectly polite. However, before she could tell her handmaid that she'd heard enough, Mozume's tone changed from embarrassed to serious.

"But nonna that's the scary part. Ah heard ‘bout a battle on Ice Clan lands that happen’d seven years back. Cause of their magic people got froze solid! The Crown Prince was there. His retainers, an’ even brother died.”

Brother? Hinoka only knew of King Garon's younger son, the second prince, Leo, who was very much alive. Perhaps Mozume had heard wrong and the servant's had gossiped about one of Marx's brothers-in-arms. It'd be an easy enough thing to mistake. She'd heard about it from her tutors— how Marx was an exemplary commander for the army who often visited troops and trainees in person. Undoubtedly any loss would upset him, especially as young as he would've been at the time. Yet Gunther and Joker were similarly alive and well, so perhaps it was all exaggeration.

She kept those thoughts to herself, and asked, “Is that all you heard?”

Mozume nodded. “Sounded like Nohrians and Ice Clan folk didn’t get on so well. Ya wouldn’t be populah fer takin’ ‘em on as ladies, Princess.”

Hinoka held in another sigh as she gave her own nod and parted their hands. When she’d met Felicia and Flora it’d felt like finding kindred spirits hidden away, especially after Zero’s suggestion all she’d wanted to do was give them more freedom. She wasn't level-headed as Ryouma could be, and wasn't a tactical thinker like Takumi. Hinoka often felt like she realized things after the fact, acting before thinking. She was sometimes embarrassed to recall the bold things she'd done on a gut decision, yet rarely did she feel sorry for it. 

“If I backed out now I’d be breaking my word, which is far worse.” Her handmaid’s expression fell, likely imagining future hardships, but Hinoka wasn’t about to change her mind. Although one thought she couldn’t set aside, “Still, Prince Marx fought against Freezia? I hadn’t even imagined such a possibility… no wonder he was upset.”

After a couple moments Mozume plucked up her courage and asked, “Did ya get inna fight?” Sheepishly, Hinoka nodded, yet the freckled girl didn’t shrink as she said, “Ah could help ya two make up! A sayin’ in my village went tha’ the best apology a wife can give ta her husband is a full belly. Mister Joker gave me permiss’n ta be in the kitchens, if it ain’t busy.”

“Joker did!?” Hinoka couldn’t hold back her disbelief.

“Yeah, cause Ah cook fer Elfie when we both ‘ave time. Unlike ‘im, she’s a real nice gal.” A genuine smile crept over her face, and Hinoka was once again glad Mozume had come to Nohr. “The kitchen’s stockrooms ‘re fulla all sortsa things. The other day Ah found the spices ya need ta make curry and a bag fulla dried rice grains.”

“Curry rice sounds so good…” Hinoka’s words trailed off into a groan, knowing that the Nohrian cooks wouldn’t make the dish from her memories.

“Let’s cook it fer the Prince!” 

“Oh, I’ve never…” With her royal station, the tenma warriors had never assigned her menial tasks such as cooking. She’d never even entertained the idea, yet suddenly Hinoka truly wanted to try. “Nevermind. Mozume, could you help me to prepare a proper welcome home meal?”

Her handmaid’s smile bloomed into a full-fledged grin. “Course, Yer Highness! We’ll whip up a feast fit fer a king.”

Upon returning to Krackenstein castle the Nohrian princes had scarcely handed over their mounts to the stable hands when a small messenger had rushed out of the castle and into the courtyard. The page delivered a request from Princess Hinoka that the crown prince join her for the evening meal on the terrace at his earliest convenience. After bidding Leo and Nyx farewell, Marx had put away his sword alongside his suit of plate and mail to the armory, then made himself presentable. While walking to the upper ward’s terrace he found himself ambushed by the man he wished would remain in the dungeons.

“I must speak with you, Prince Marx.” His father’s advisor called out as he emerged from the hallway’s shadows, undoubtedly lying in wait for him to pass by.

“Baron Cawdor,” Marx glanced at the sorcerer from the corner of his eye and didn’t halt. “I am to meet Princess Hinoka shortly, so we must converse and walk.”

The black-haired man audibly huffed, yet moved faster than his typical slink in order to match stride. “There is a great many things we need to discuss, Your Highness. But first I must address what happened in our kitchens while you were out today. The Hoshidonese princess abruptly commandeered the place, and according to the head cook disrupted their workflow.”

Marx’s brow furrowed at his words, mostly in confusion. As much as he distrusted the man, it was most likely that Iago exaggerated rather than lied in full. Yet Hinoka had never displayed an interest in cooking prior, he could only guess that she’d craved a Hoshidonese dish that their cooks were unable to create. It wasn’t as if she’d be the first royal to visit the kitchens, he’d gone a great number of times in his youth.

Like every child born to the royal house of Anya he'd lived in the Northern Citadel alongside his mother until he'd come of age. He and all his siblings had lessons in those kitchens on how to detect poisons and tampering in food. However, those hadn't been his only childhood visits there. Whenever the weight of other’s gazes grew too heavy and threatened to make him crumble, his child-self would flee there. Unlike the kitchen staff in Krackenstien, the Citadel's cooks were more kindly than harried. They would make hot, sweetened milk and permit him to sit in a corner. Where he’d watched their bustle and listened to the chattering, the gossip shared by servants, the news brought by the odd off-duty guard. Occasionally he'd been called upon to help the kitchen maids, in thanks they'd taught how prepare a few dishes. 

However, before he could comment the sorcerer continued, “During the Princess’ time there, she used many exotic and _costly_ foodstuffs. Sumeragi’s daughter was raised in a luxury we cannot afford to emulate, as her husband you must forbid such things!”

The Nohrian prince kept an even tone as he asked, “Adviser, are you telling me to banish my wife from the kitchens because she has expensive tastes?”

Iago’s expression pinched with irritation, which he did not bother to hide from his voice as he said, “Make light of my concerns if you must, Prince Marx. But do not forget, I am the one assigned by His Majesty to keep an eye on the kingdom’s treasury. This castle’s expenses included.”

"Baron Cawdor, you never voiced such complaints when the costs for my wedding were catalogued." He rebutted.

"Because it was necessary to fully display the royal house Anya's splendor, so that all could bear witness and understand not to trifle.” Iago said, as if it was self-evident, then his tone grew snide. “How does the kingdom benefit from your more recent decisions, Prince Marx? I cannot see how relocating refugees and consuming imported spices will better Nohr."

Marx resisted clenching his hands into fists by counting in his head. He hated this. It was too early to declare their efforts with the Kohgans a failure, and his father's adviser should've known that. Which meant these incessant doubts over his decisions was simply flagrant disrespect. It stirred embers of the dark temper that'd smoldered inside him since the incident in Ganz's crime den.

The sorcerer misunderstood his silence as permission to speak. “There is a simple solution to all these additional costs, Your Highness. It could all be easily recouped from your wife’s dowry-”

“No.” Marx interrupted without hesitation. 

The Nohrian prince wanted the conversation to end there. It was not proper to discuss such things in the hallways where the passing servants and standing guard could all hear. His father’s adviser knew better, thus it could only be a purposeful choice— possibly a tactic to force him to comply. The gall of it set an itch under his skin.

Oblivious to his growing ire, the black haired man continued, "Hoshido’s royal house of Byakuya gave that dowry just as we paid the bride price. It's your right as her husband to spend it, and you hardly have to worry about returning its worth."

Marx had to relax his suddenly tense jaw before he said, "Adviser Iago, you speak as if our laws didn't prohibit a spouse from selling any part of a dowry without their wife’s permission."

"That wealth won't do Nohr any good if you refuse to utilize it!" The sorcerer nearly shouted, his expression incredulous.

Even though the door to the upper terrace was now in sight, those words had the Nohrian prince come to a halt. He turned and stared down at the black-haired man. He didn’t bother disguising the anger in his voice. "The dowry belongs to Princess Hinoka and our future children. It will not be treated like a forgotten hoard to be plundered. Do not suggest such again, Baron Cawdor."

His father’s advisor glanced away, kept quiet, perhaps understanding his plan was thwarted. However, a calculating gleam enter into his visible eye, before the man met his gaze again and spoke with a demureness that grated. “Regarding those heirs, Prince Marx, I feel that it is necessary to inform you that the Hoshidonese Princess visited the Northern Citadel’s kitchens and left with a container of tea laced with black dragon root.” 

Marx’s entire body grew tense and his temper went from hot to cold. He’d undergone enough training with herbs to understand the implications. Part of him immediately dismissed it as a lie— he trusted his wife, she wouldn’t go behind his back in such a way. Yet the warier part of him wondered, had a numbness settling in his chest at the inevitability. Reigning both in, he decided to instead order Joker to investigate event, how many eyes witnessed, and if it’d been made common knowledge.

However, as the door to the terrace opened and revealed Hinoka, Marx couldn’t help but frown at how her eyes were wide with panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mozume's village was still destroyed and her mother killed in this AU, just by men rather than monsters.
> 
> I based the high value of spices in Nohr on the fact most are grown in tropical or temperate climates with lots of rain, aka Hoshido and the eastern half of the continent. With long transportation time, it'd likely result in a similar fervor that medieval Europe had for the spice trade— where stock was low and demand high, thus a luxury good only afforded by the wealthy. Hinoka being from a country where such spices were integrated into the daily menu wouldn't think twice about using them, especially when having missed the taste of home.
> 
> It’s been a long time since this fic last updated, but I have plans for the initial posting anniversary!


	18. Closing Spaces In Between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some possibly triggering content is in this chapter. If that concerns you, please read [this page](http://damoselceles.dreamwidth.org/6447.html#cutid1) where the warning is detailed. Know that the trigger listing also acts as mild spoilers for this chapter.
> 
> Originally posted 7/18/2017.

“Enjoy the meal, Prince Marx.” There was an oiliness to Iago’s tone when he glanced to her. “Princess Hinoka.” The sorcerer then turned and slithered away without another word.

He’d already said enough to damn her, she’d heard the voices through the door when she’d gone to open it, and it had the Hoshidonese princess’ heart racing.

“Marx, he’s wrong. I got that tea for Setsuna, I’m not drinking it myself.” A twisting pang of discomfort screwed within her chest. Her monthly blood hadn’t come in so long… some would see that as proof of guilt— that she was lying. Desperate, she clasped her hands together, “I swear before the gods-”

“Enough, Hinoka. Mortals shouldn’t call upon the divine over petty affairs.” Marx’s dark eyes cut to her with such a quickness that Hinoka had to hold back a flinch. He must’ve noticed, for his voice was softer as he said, “And there’s no need to give an oath to me, I trust your word.”

After she nodded, that sharp gaze looked past her. “Is all this a dinner you prepared for me?”

Hinoka released a breath she’d been unaware she was holding. “Yes, with Mozume’s help.”

She stepped back from the doorway and ushered the Nohrian prince onto the terrace. The metal table once again held a meal for two, but was currently covered by a white tablecloth and illuminated by several lit candlesticks. It’d been at the suggestion of the kitchen maids, who’d giggled and cooed once they’d discovered the Hoshidonese princess’ purpose in the kitchens. That sudden attention and encouragement had made her nearly as nervous as she’d been during the Nohrian wedding banquet, and resulted in her request that no servants be present during the evening meal itself. So, she and her husband were currently alone.

Surprisingly, Marx moved behind a metal chair, slid it out, and rather than getting in it himself motioned for Hinoka to sit. It was something straight out of the etiquette lessons and she did her part to accept with as much grace as she could muster. Hinoka drew her bottom lip between her teeth as he took his own seat, mentally reciting what she needed to say.

Once he was settled and looking at her rather than the food, she said, “I was mad, you know. It’s why… I acted so childishly. I made this meal out of contrition.”

Marx’s brow rose, likely not having expected the sudden confession. “It’s not childish to express your displeasure. If I upset you, I’d rather know and try to make amends.”

His words had her fighting a smile, but one thing bothered her. “Why don’t you demand that _I_ apologize and make amends?”

Marx didn’t answer immediately, actually glanced away. “…you didn’t know better.”

Innocence through ignorance, it smacked against her pride. She felt a flush rising in her face as she argued, “That’s no excuse. I thought this was an equal relationship?”

His eyes were back upon her, brow furrowing. “What amends would you be willing to make? Would you rescind your decision to take Chieftain Kilma’s daughters as your ladies-in-waiting?”

Hinoka shook her head. “No. I gave them my word, to take it back would break that.”

“Then it’s settled, there’s nothing to amend,” he said, nearly in a sigh. His gaze searched her, the scrutinization had her shifting in her seat. “I incited your anger-”

She shook her head again. “Marx, it’s fine. I mean, so long as you treat Flora and Felicia with more care than you gave their clothes, I’ll forgive you.”

“I swear it, Hinoka.” Marx reached across the table and offered his gloved hand, palm up.

With a smile, she took it. “Thank you.” They waited like that a moment, in mindful affection, then she released his hand and said, “Shall we eat?”

Although that conversation had been needed, it had been a little torturous to do so while the fragrance of the hot food had wafted up. It’d felt like an obstacle course preparing and cooking, but Mozume had guided her and thankfully prevented anything from spoiling. The rice was white and fluffy, while bright colors of the vegetables stood out among the chunks of meat and brown curry sauce— the curry rice looked exactly as it should, and smelled twice as appetizing.

Marx nodded, yet hesitated after picking up the only flatwear beside his plate, a spoon. Hinoka realized he was watching how she gathered with her own spoon, then with cautious curiosity partook of his own. Rather than take her first bite she watched him, eager to witness his reaction to the Hoshidonese dish. As he chewed his expression shifted and he abruptly swallowed— the face he’d made was like the food had burned his tongue and blazed down his throat. Marx coughed as if he’d nearly choked, before he reached for the glass and gulped down all of the wine in huge swallows.

Forgetting all table manners, she brought a spoonful to her own mouth. Rather than a smooth, savory taste with the barest bite of heat, its hot pepperiness nearly overwhelmed her. Although it’d been her first time cooking, Hinoka realized she’d blundered. She’d likely added too much spice, especially for a Nohrian palate accustomed to blander fare.

Swallowing, she rose from her seat and hurried to his side, bringing a napkin to dab at her husband’s face where the drink had spilled. “Marx, I-I’m so sorry!”

He didn’t wave off her ministrations, only raised a hand when another bout of coughing took him. When it was over, he said in a rasp of a whisper, “…perhaps Iago was right, it’d be best if you left the spices in the kitchen alone.”

“What else did King Garon’s adviser say about me?” Hinoka snapped, unable to stifle the irritation and fear that suddenly churned inside her. Her husband gave her a confused look and she clarified, “I, I overheard my name. Even before that last thing he said.”

“…it’s nothing you need to concern yourself with,” he said, quietly.

“How can I not! Marx, what’d he been talking to you about?”

The Nohrian prince didn’t reply and Hinoka noticed she’d grown so tense that her hands trembled. Part of her wanted him to reach out, take her into his arms, and assure her that nothing a worm like Iago said couldn't turn him against her. Yet another part of her shied away, didn’t want to be touched. It left her feeling torn— her own desires at war.

As her husband stayed silent and kept his hands under the table, the tension in her only wound tighter. Hinoka’s frustration roiled over as she demanded, “Why won’t you tell me?!”

“Because nothing will come of it.” Marx spoke in a measure voice, like each word had been carefully weighed then chosen. “Iago has no love for your homeland and was simply attempting to seize wealth that’d been previously beyond his grasp. I didn’t want to upset you with a matter already settled.”

Hinoka scrutinized his face. The evening gloom and candlelight caused shadows sculpted the cut of his jaw, the sharp shapes of his cheekbones, the set of his eyes. Just as his words had been, his expression was measured— so much so that is suddenly felt like she couldn’t read him at all. It was a mask like the one Sumaragi would wear to deal with feudal lords, more serious than any she’d seen on even Ryouma. In a sudden, frantic rush Hinoka wished he’d be open with her, clearly show his thoughts.

The uncertainty made Hinoka want to get away from this situation, from unspoken fears, from being the one at fault. Despite standing on an open terrace, it felt like walls were crushing in against her. Between one blink and the next she’d gone for the door as fast as her feet could carry her. Only Marx’s voice stopped her from turning the handle.

“Hinoka, wait-” Alarm had crept into his voice, almost like desperation. She clung to it, to the possibility that he was upset as she felt but was bad at showing it. She wanted him to want her to stay. “Spar with me.”

That snagged the Hoshidonese princess from her spiraling thoughts and had her turning to face him. The tangle of emotion behind her breastbone was almost eclipsed by confusion as she asked, “What? Now?”

“Yes.”

“But you haven’t eaten-”

“I’m not hungry. Please, Hinoka, spar with me.”

Rather than turning and slamming the door behind her, Hinoka nodded and agreed to meet him at the training grounds after she’d changed. Marx actually appeared relieved as he thanked her, the lines of his body relaxing. The twisting discomfort in her chest eased somewhat.

That spring season approached its end, the high heat of encroaching summer was quite evident in the warmth that lingered even past sunset. Marx had gone to the practice grounds without changing his attire and after stretching his limbs found he had to divest himself of his jacket. Even then he felt warm, so rolled up his shirt sleeves, and after checking to ensure no one milling about, loosened his cravat from its tight wind around his neck. He hadn’t imagined this was where he’d end up tonight, yet was simply thankful he’d been able to salvage communication between himself and his wife.

The dinner had been an unexpected but thoughtful gesture on Hinoka’s part, and he blamed his own mention of Iago for ruining the mood. The moment he’d said it, he’d immediately regretted letting his tongue loose. It’d set Hinoka on edge, and he didn't think she’d meant to sound as defensive as she had. It was more likely that the entire situation, and the pressure upon them to make an heir had so upset her. In that charged moment he’d been afraid to say another wrong thing, now looking back Marx knew his silences hadn’t helped any.

Yet the consternation on her face, rather than filling him with trepidation, had instead driven Marx to try and alleviate her mood.

So here he was on the deserted grounds, hoping to rectify his blunder. Rather than retrieving the dulled swords that he used to spar in the morning, Marx retrieved a matched pair of wooden spears— their tips wrapped in sackcloth to be as harmless as possible while practicing. It wasn’t that he doubted his wife’s skill with any weapon, but rather that he wanted her to feel free to strike at him without the need to pull her blows. Something not possible with a proper weapon while they were unarmored.

Although as he weighed the wood in his hand, he couldn’t help but find it felt off. Gunther had taught Marx how to wield a weapon with live steel, not wooden substitutes that were all wrong in size and heaviness. His lessons had been for combat, and he'd killed with his skill.

Shrugging off the feeling. The Nohrian prince set one of the spears aside so that he could twirl the other in his hands, accustom himself to its movements. The basics of combat were balance and grip, along with bladed weapons sheathing and unsheathing. All recruits for the Nohrian army had to fill candlemarks with repetitive motions to gain agility with a weapon as a standard matter of course in their training. When he’d become a squire, even he had to do so. His mind blanked and he fell into instinctive muscle memory.

Footsteps drew him from this daze, although he was uncertain just how long it’d been since he’d started. There was now another occupant in the practice grounds— Hinoka, who walked towards him with her forehead creased in puzzlement. Gone was the lovely kimono the same brilliant shade of red as her hair, instead she wore the tenma warrior’s uniform and riding boots. It seemed she intended their spar to be a serious one.

As she drew close Marx stooped and retrieved the set aside spear. When he rose he was about to extend it out to her, but Hinoka's eyes stopped him short. She wasn’t looking at the weapon or his face, instead her gaze roved over him. She glanced to the rolled up sleeves of his shirt and to where he'd loosened the cravat about his neck, all while drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. That detail shouldn’t have stirred his blood and it most certainly shouldn’t have caused heat to kindle in his lower belly.

Drawing in a sharp breath, he regained mastery of himself and offered the practice weapon to his wife. The motion had her eyes snapping to his— then her jaw was set, her lips pressed together, as she reached out and accepted the spear. However, when his wife turned on the balls of her feet and began towards the practice floor, the Nohrian prince called out, “Please, wait a moment.”

The Hoshidonese princess stopped but didn’t turn right away.

“Before we spar I’d like to speak with you.” She glanced from the corner of her eye, and he realized the press of his fingernails threatened to break the skin of his palms. So he consciously relaxed his fists, then said, “I want to offer my apologies for upsetting you earlier. You're why I'm still here, Hinoka, and I owe you thanks.”

She turned to face him fully. “What do you mean? You thanked me.”

“I never properly showed you my gratitude.”

Hinoka shrugged, the way she rolled her shoulders and stretched out her neck shouldn’t have drawn his eyes as it did. Yet he also caught how her fingers tightened on the shaft of the practice spear. Despite the orange cast of the anima lanterns, a rosy blush rising in her cheeks was obvious to him.

Marx thought of the dangers of her promise, to stay by his side, how she’d likely be insulted if he questioned the sincerity of her word. She was a warrior, and he admired how Hinoka kept on even when it was clear she felt lost. With all this in mind he said, "You deserve more than that."

Her blush heightened at his words, then the Hoshidonese princess broke eye contact and found some point beyond his shoulder suddenly fascinating.

The Nohrian prince considered having a proper banquet prepared in her honor, to return her favor. However, quickly disregarded the idea he recalled how uncomfortable his wife had been during their wedding feast. "What would you like? Name it and I will give it to you." He said, his tone not as even as it should’ve been.

Hinoka’s eyes widened, then she shook her head. "Marx, you've already promised to give my ladies-in-waiting a chance. That's all I really wanted."

He crossed the space between them and laid a hand upon her upper arm. "Truly, you want for nothing else?"

“J-just get on the mats! Do you want to spar or not?” She abruptly broke from his hold and strode over the sawdust, face endearingly red.

He did as she bid, moved until he stood opposite of her on the sawdust covered floor. She nodded and then shifted to a ready position with her weapon. Marx took in the flick of her wrist, the tilt of her hips, the spin of her body— her hands were comfortable with the weight of her weapon, familiar with its reach. He’d not dishonor her with underestimation, so shifted into one of his more defensive stances then nodded back.

The moment he did, Hinoka rounded on Marx and swung her practice spear at his head, a blow he blocked with his own wooden weapon. He was even faster with a spear than in swordplay, and this close he could see the way her eyes flashed. He liked the way his wife looked when she fought.

Each thrust and swing of their blunted lances brought her in close to him, their shoulders collided, their chests met and pushed against each other in aggressive invitation. Hinoka raised her voice loud whenever she struck, whether out of habit or an intimidation tactic he was unsure. Marx kept his own vocalizations to a minimum as they sparred, wanting to hear as much of her voice as he could.

Sparring with her was almost like preforming a dance, albeit with more aggression. Her movements had the same fluidity, the grace that seemed effortless but were aided by dexterity, strength, and muscle memory that only came through long practice. Hinoka was quick and nimble wielding her spear. With the way she kept aiming for his weak points, he could see how she might easily incapacitate even the most heavily armored of assailants. When a strike came down upon her, she twisted or tumbled until she was no longer there, her body contorting as she fought.

It was a good fight, one that had Marx's blood rushing through his veins.

Hinoka lunged, he brought up his weapon to parry— she suddenly feinted and he felt the cloth-wrapped tip of her spear hit his shoulder. It caused him to fall back a step, the sting something he didn’t regret feeling. Not since his fight with Hoshido’s high prince had a sparring partner landed a hit on him, and it had Marx smiling.

Hinoka, however, spied his smile and her gaze grew stormy. "Do you mean to toy with me? Stop holding back!"

He wiped the smile from his face, and replied, "As you wish."

This time after they broke apart he focused, watched the way her torso turned telling where her next attack would come from. When she feinted again he moved with her, then forced her to raise up her weapon to block by stepping in close enough to crowd her. As she watched his spear for movement he dropped a hand, grabbed one of her legs behind the knee, and then swept her other foot out from under her.

Her body rippled in an attempt to roll into the fall, he could feel it— but that very same grip prevented her from doing so. His hand instead caused her to hit the sawdust covered floor with a thud that knocked the wind from her, though her neck bent to guard her head. Before she could regain her breath, Marx placed the tip of his practice spear against her throat, where he could see her pulse fluttering.

"Do you yield?"

Hinoka swore under her breath with words so foul he wondered where she'd learned them. "...that was a dirty trick."

The Nohrian prince tilted his head in acknowledgement, not disagreeing but neither offering an apology. He still had a firm hold behind her knee, but standing still made him aware of how his muscles burned and that sweat dripped down his face. His wife looked no better than he felt— short of breath, strands of her hair stuck to her temples and neck, while the cloth of her uniform clung to her frame. The hem of her skirt had hitched up enough to reveal the pale line where it usually fell traced over the sun-tanned skin of her thighs.

At the sight something inside of Marx sparked, and he had to halt his eyes from trailing up further. The entire affair caused his blood to rush hot in his veins. He wasn't sure that he liked how this so totally shifted the center of his focus.

Mercifully, as his composure threatened to slip, Hinoka offered a distraction. She huffed then said, "I yield."

He set his spear aside, released her leg— then his wife struck. Tossing her practice weapon against his feet the Hoshidonese princess kicked out, tripping him. He fell but managed to throw out his arms and catch himself rather than landing upon her. The memory of those bright eyes looking up at him with fear flashed through his mind, and he lifted to put space between them once he’d steadied himself.

Despite the how the specter of his past mistakes haunted him, Hinoka’s eyes were clear as she gazed up at him now. The fierceness that'd dominated her gaze during the spar was now eclipsed by some softer feeling. The bright amber, though no longer piercing, anchored Marx as he braced his weight over her. The thrill of sparring was still buzzing through Marx, he fought the urge to swallow as the air became laden with heavy expectation, anticipation curling close about his backbone.

When his wife shifted closer, her nose sliding along his cheek until it pressed against his own, he went completely still.

"I'm rather angry with you," she said, he felt her exhale each word.

Marx dwelt on how they were breathing in each other's air. Close with an intimacy that'd gone missing under his notice. Not daring to move bodily, he simply replied, "I know."

Hinoka made a frustrated noise but then pressed into him for a kiss. The sensation jolted through Marx and suddenly he couldn't help but move. Her mouth was that tempting apple-red, and his lips parted for a taste. The kiss wasn't simply warm but heated, with her hands eagerly grabbing hold of him. It made his blood burn, woke something ravenous deep inside him. He didn't break away as he had before the Arena, when she'd kissed him for luck. Rather than struggling for a measure of control, Marx wanted more of the desire— the pleasure setting him aflame. He'd _happily_ be razed by his wife's kisses.

Abruptly Hinoka broke the kiss and drew away, like a struck fool he chased after her. Her voice was breathy as she asked, "Can we go to the baths, and wash up?"

With a slowness akin to dripping honey did Marx's thoughts stuck together, until it struck him— he'd been about to do something most unseemly where anyone could've wandered in and caught them. Abashed, he got off Hinoka and helped her onto her feet. As they made their way towards the baths Marx silently chided himself for acting like a brute. Yet he couldn't forget the pleased excitement on Hinoka's face, felt the blood rushing into his own, and tried to slow the race of his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hinoka’s inability to cook is a tropier part of her character, but considering she’s royalty it really just makes sense in a Medieval period setting where a kitchen has to keep the oven’s fires always stoked and it takes HOURS to prepare meals that she’d never have learned. Though you may have noticed I slipped in a mention about Marx's cooking abilities last chapter.
> 
> Also I've been waiting a long time to post the battle couple having a spar. [A link](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11543481) for those of you who want to read what happened after their trip to the baths. Happy IAWG anniversary.


	19. Shadows In The Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some possibly triggering content is in this chapter. If that concerns you, please read [this page](http://damoselceles.dreamwidth.org/6753.html#cutid1) where the warning is detailed. Know that the trigger listing also acts as mild spoilers for this chapter.
> 
> Originally posted 8/30/2017.

A letter bearing the royal house of Anya’s seal, sent from Queen Ektrina in Forres, arrived a little over a week after Marx and herself had sparred then reconciled. Unlike the correspondence from the royal family of Byakuya it’d been carried to Krackenstein castle via wyvern rider, and Hinoka was informed when there was hardly any daylight left. The rider had delivered it to the crown prince rather than herself, but when her husband handed the letter to her it’d still been folded with the wax seal intact. The significance of it all had twisted her insides with both excitement and dread. She’d suddenly wanted privacy, so had gone out onto the small balcony attached to Marx’s solar.

There the Hoshidonese had broken the wax, unfolded the creased parchment in her hands, and read the swirling script of her mother-in-law which spiraled across the page in thin black ink. The diction was extremely formal, listing all of Her Majesty’s titles and then the High Princess’ own, before going into technicalities of rights afforded to individuals from Nohrian tributaries. Finally, under a lengthy list of conditions and caveats, she found the answer— the Queen had granted her official permission to take on Flora and Felicia as her ladies-in-waiting.

That’d had Hinoka laughing aloud with relief, freed from the weight of uncertainty and fear of rejection. In a small celebration, she’d allowed herself to linger and watch the sky as the last moments of sunlight diminished. It was a late evening in the new summer season. If Hinoka been in Hoshido the sky would've brightened in oranges, yellows, and pinks from the setting sun. She would've watched through a window until the colors faded to blues and purples while the pinpoints of stars emerged with twilight. Here in Nohr, however, the cloudy gloom seemed to forever hang over the skies like a mourning shroud. It hid the sun from view— even when she knew it to be setting in west. Their grayness went from light to dark until the black of night blotted all definition out, and that was all. So, the time she'd stood on the balcony looking for a splash of color had been in vain.

With a sigh, Hinoka refolded the letter then left the balcony and returned to the solar. Inside was illuminated by multiple lit candles, none of the lanterns currently were aglow with magic. She preferred the candlelight. It was soft, almost made the room’s architecture feel less heavy, as everything melted into the shadows. The only element ruined by this low lighting were the wall decorations. The stone held no scrolls with ink paintings, but instead long swathes of heavily embroidered cloth called tapestries where different colors of thread created images in place of brushstrokes. She’d admired them before, in the overcast daylight— Nohrian knights on wyvern and horseback, craggy mountains and tall castles, lords and ladies dancing, an inhuman woman hanging stars in the sky. Many-petaled roses and their thorny brambles always framing these scenes. In the night dark, the tapestries were reduced to mere shadows.

Unable to find the color she craved, the Hoshidonese princess turned her eyes away from the walls and towards the other person who occupied the solar. Her husband was at his usual evening routine, answering correspondence and other documents. The desk faced away from the wall which contained the balcony door, and only the back of his golden head was visible from where she stood. As she rounded, she saw that he sat straight against the tall chair with both his arms extended onto the desk before him. She could hear the scratching of a quill's nib instead of the soft shift of an inked brush.

Regardless, the rustling sound of parchment brought memories of balancing household accounts back in Shirazaki. When Hinoka had first learned it, her child-self had come close to shedding tears over how dull and tedious counting numbers could be. Yet after her mother’s death, the duty had fallen to the eldest princess and over the years balancing accounts had become routine. Shockingly, she found she missed it.

Pushing the nostalgia from her mind, Hinoka approached the desk. It was piled high with parchment sheets and envelopes, enough so that some had been stacked on the floor beside it. Each stack was carefully weighed down with a stone, some smooth like river rocks and others carved into charming shapes. Also on the desk’s top was a Nohrian style writing kit: round ink well, pounce pot, feather quill pen and its stand. The make of it wasn’t elaborately artistic, instead simple but well-kept and well-used.

With her husband in clear view, she held up the folded letter. “Would you like to read it, Marx?”

“Yes, Hinoka, thank you.” He replied without a glance or pause in his writing. “Please set it at that corner, I need a moment.”

She set it down without protest, then contented herself with observing him work. The black-feather quill in her husband’s hand hardly tipped, yet her eye followed the ink-dipped nib writing neatly upon the blank parchment. Although she wasn’t very skilled at replicating it herself, Hinoka thought that Nohrian calligraphy was an art-form and that her husband was a master at it. However, her gaze soon wandered over the writer himself. With the change in season Marx had taken to donning less layers, such as a vest or jacket, and he currently only wore low boots, breeches, cravat, and a loose linen shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows. That last detail had Hinoka swallowing as it reminded her of the first time she’d seen such a style on him in the practice hall.

She was knocked from a daze of tantalizing memories when Marx blotted his quill and set it in its stand. He then picked up the pounce pot and sprinkled the fine dust to prevent the ink from pooling and ruining the script. However, rather than reaching for the queen's letter his brow furrowed and he glanced over the crowded surface before beginning to open the drawers of his desk.

“Are you looking for something?” Hinoka knew he was, but wanted to know precisely for what.

Marx grunted, closing the last of the drawers with a frown. “My seal to stamp the wax. It’s usually here with my other tools, but it’s been misplaced…”

Hinoka looked to the writing set again, and this time noticed the empty space where the seal stamp might’ve gone. Searching the items on the desk she spied the red sealing wax, already melted in a large-bowled spoon set over a candleflame, but saw no sign of the stamp in question. Abruptly, Marx slid the chair back, perhaps to peer underneath the desk, and in doing so revealed a passenger on his lap.

It was a curled-up cat of the local breed that had long ears like a rabbit. Long-eared cats were kept in Vindam to help control the pests, though it was debatably effective as some rats grew bigger than the average feline. One of her blunter tutors had told her that both animals tended to be trapped and eaten by the more desperate sectors of the populace when food was scarce. A repulsive thought.

This cat looked well-fed, even if her husband’s sudden movement had its head raising and yellow eyes blinking. While the tip of its tail and its ears were white Hinoka also spied a few gray hairs in the fur about the feline's nose and shoulders, stark against the otherwise black fur, which gave away its old age. She reached a hand down to pet, but quick as a flash the long-eared cat had hopped off Marx’s lap and away from her reach. It’s large, luminous eyes shone in the candlelight before it slunk further into the shadows, under the furniture, and out of sight.

“Don’t feel badly.” Marx said, voice warm with amusement. “Meu is not friendly with strangers and it will take a long time before she’s warmed up to you enough for petting.”

She let her hand drop. “She? But isn’t the name Sir Meu?”

“Yes, we only realized the mistake after she had a litter of kittens.” His lips twitched into the beginnings of a smile. “Camilla insisted the name remain the same.”

Hinoka recalled how in the late summer of last year Camilla had told her the tale of this royal pet. As a child Camilla had found an injured cat, and since she'd always thought them cute had taken it home. However, the feral animal proved difficult to hide and when she'd brought in her elder brother for aid he'd been bloodied by its claws. Apparently, Camilla's mother had scolded her most harshly and ordered the feline to be removed, which had left her in tears. A few days later Marx had shown her that he'd hidden the long-eared cat in the stables and then agreed to keep it on his sister's behalf.

At the time, she'd thought it a nice story but had reservations whether the Nohrian princess exaggerated the crown prince's generosity. Since then she’d seen the cat curled contentedly and knowing how he took time to groom his mounts, the Hoshidonese princess now found the childhood tale to be easily believable.

“You’re very fond of animals, aren’t you?” Marx made no reply and his gaze turned pensive, as if he expected her to follow up with a cutting remark. Hinoka scrambled to reassure him, “My older brother has a pet too, a little white dog that’s more fluff than bark.”

“The High Prince? That’s…” He trailed off as his brow rose incredulously.

Imagining the look of offense on her older brother’s face to such a reaction, Hinoka laughed. “Unexpected? Despite his uneasiness with mounts, Ryouma’s fond of animals too.”

However, when she looked to her husband, she found his gaze was upon her lips. It made Hinoka conscious of how widely her mouth had opened when she’d laughed— not ladylike at all. When she closed it to the point of a clenched jaw, his dark eyes flashed up to hers before glancing away almost guiltily. Trying not to overthink the moment, Hinoka asked, “Do you want me to try and find that seal?”

He shook his head, “It’ll eventually turn up.”

“Could we talk for a moment?” She blurted out the question before she lost the nerve. Marx’s glance was long yet he nodded, even going so far as starting to rise from his seat. Hinoka quickly caught his shoulders and kept him seated, “No need to get up. I’ll sit.”

Looking past the bemusement which currently colored her husband’s expression, she gauged the space behind the desk. It was truly created for a single person’s use, unable to practically fit another chair behind it. Unlike some tall-backed Nohrian chairs this one lacked arms, and that gave her an idea. Using the grip she already had on his shoulders, the Hoshidonese princess seated herself sideways upon his lap.

She felt his muscles tense, possibly unsure how to react as outside the bedroom and sparring mats this sort of closeness between their bodies wasn't usual. Even while they were both sitting he was taller, and the expanse of his shoulders took up her vision. Hinoka had to look up as she asked, “Is this alright?”

Marx nodded again, the motion stiffer compared to his last. Yet as she settled and lowered her hands, the tension in his body lessened ever so slightly. When she’d moved his arm had lifted out of her way— and now her husband brought it around her waist almost as if to hold her secure. A shiver ran through Hinoka as one of his big hands came to rest upon her covered thigh, a warm weight even through the silk of her kimono.

Hinoka was comfortable despite the awkward position. Marx's body radiated heat, while the curve of his upper arm as it reached past her to the desk and its papers was easy to rest her back against. If she leaned towards him it’d be an easy thing to rest her head at the junction between his shoulder and neck.

“What do you wish to talk about?” Marx asked.

Hinoka felt the words rumble, felt how his rosemary-scented breath stirred strands of her hair, and did her best not to squirm. She had to clear her throat before answering, “I have an idea that could increase our funds.”

Although they'd apologized to each other and made up, Hinoka still couldn't help but worry over the issues mentioned that fateful night. By her husband's words, the king's adviser wanted wealth— that of Hoshido. Yet she couldn't think of anything significant now within 'his grasp', as true riches would only come once steady trade flowed between their kingdoms. She'd brought personal items of fine materials, but Hinoka couldn't imagine even Iago would stoop to peddling baubles or unmentionables for a handful of gold coins.

Nohr needed money. Despite its large size and the tributaries, it couldn't be called prosperous. When the tutors had taught her about the resources and taxes from each Nohrian territory, she'd been shocked at how sparse the amounts were compared to the numbers tallied for collected rice sent to Shirazaki. It'd made her more conscious about the possible costs incurred within Krakenstein Castle, even though she had no access to the household accounts or treasury books to confirm any suspicions.

“Hinoka, our finances aren’t your responsibility.” Marx sighed, though she felt his chest expand with it more than heard the sigh.

His words had her shifting to meet his gaze. “I know what you mean, but I want to help. Limited as this might be…” Hinoka ran her teeth over her bottom lip, then said, “Tenma are rare in Nohr, so a promised foal would be prized, wouldn’t it?”

“…sky horses are worth a small fortune, yes. And a foal from the royal stables would increase its value even more.” Marx sounded like he was puzzling it together, mentally laying out the possibilities and their various outcomes. He didn’t look displeased, but neither was he excited as he asked, “Are you proposing to have Senshi as a dam and Kouun a sire?”

Hinoka nodded. “Senshi has foaled before.”

The circumstances that'd led to it were difficult for the Hoshidonese princess to forget. A very young Sakura had followed a barely older Kazahana into the forest and they’d ended up stranded overnight, because of a stray dog and a storm. The winds had been bad enough that tenma couldn't safely fly, yet in desperation her adolescent-self had all but ordered her fellow warriors to go out and search. She'd ended up injuring Senshi's wing trying to ride her in the stormy weather. Tsubaki had actually argued against the high princess that night, then had gone out on foot and found the two girls on his own.

The following morning Sumeragi had punished both his daughters: he’d sent Sakura to the temple to learn the ways of a miko, while with Hinoka, he'd forbidden her to fly for the rest of the year and had ordered Senshi bred. In the moment it’d felt horribly unfair, but looking back she realized it had not only given her tenma time to heal but had also forced her to pay more attention to her lessons and princessly duties. And she'd had to admit, Senshi's foal with its small downy wings had been adorable, even if it’d grown and been sold off fast.

Snapping herself back to the present, Hinoka continued, “It’s not like I’m making patrols. As long as Senshi has it easy, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Marx tipped his head in acknowledgement. “It deserves consideration as breeding season has only just begun. My apologies, Hinoka, for dismissing you out of hand.”

A rush of vindication swept through her, but she did her best to keep it off her face. “Apology accepted, Marx.”

Those hints of a smile were curving his mouth once more, and Hinoka was tempted to lean up and kiss his lips. However, there were other worries on her mind, so she pushed the urge aside and continued. “There is one other thing… You told me that tournament mission wouldn't involve infiltration, but a criminal den was precisely where you ended up.” She watched his smile disappear as she asked, “Are you going after that man again?”

There was a change in the man before her. Her shyly expressive husband was replaced with the steeled countenance of Nohr’s crown prince. Even his tone was grave as he replied, “Yes, for what should be the _last_ time.”

Hinoka nodded, glad to have knowledge rather than mere suspicions. King Garon had already forbidden her from accompanying them to battle, and she understood why with her earlier brush with death. Yet she desperately yearned to be able too, and it had her asking, “Marx, once this is over, will I be able to stay by your side truly?”

His steely expression softened. “You have my word. I want you beside me, Hinoka.”

She smiled at him, then leaned to glance over the documents laid across the desk and asked what he was writing. Marx explained that he was replying to a query from Abaza regarding the construction of temporary housing. As he went into particulars Hinoka relished this newfound closeness between them.

Hinoka's breathing was deep and even, relaxed in a way that came with true slumber, and Marx guessed it was around two bells past midnight. She laid in his arms, bodily against him with a closeness she'd chosen when they’d gotten into bed. Every breath he took in was full of her smell— incense that perfumed her clothing still clung to her skin, and something bright and clean that entirely belonged to Hinoka. Marx had grown accustomed to the close contact and warm weight of his wife; it was now something he sought nightly. Usually the quiet sound of her breaths and steady beat of her heart would lull him to sleep. Yet he now found himself wide-awake, despite Hinoka typically being the one with troubled sleep.

They'd begun coupling again after forgoing for so long. That instance following their first spar had taken all his discipline to focus on her needs rather than just glutting his own. Even still, he'd found the pleasure so good that it was almost a torture in and of itself. Although the days following had proven more sedate, he’d noticed every time Hinoka would tug him down for a kiss that his heart began to pound, even when their contact remained chaste. Never had such carnal impulses plagued him so, and made maintaining decorum a struggle. He wanted more of that intimacy, craved to touch and please her— to the point he had to think of reasons not to do so. This, combined with his lax behavior on the practice grounds, left Marx unsettled over his steadily slipping self-control.

Then there was Queen Ektrina’s letter, the permission granted. Try as he might, the Nohrian prince hadn’t been able to put concerns from his mind. His mother had accounted for many possibilities but that didn’t change the core problem of how close and vulnerable Hinoka would be to the Freezians. Even if they hadn't had good reason to avenge their people, their innate magic was as dangerous as dragon's blood. Yet Marx knew if he forbid his wife this, that she might hate him for it.

A long sigh from Hinoka abruptly distracted him from the unease roiling through him. When Marx opened his eyes that night’s fire was banked in the hearth, and thus the darkness of the bedroom meant he saw little. However, the way their bodies touched, he felt every rise and fall of her chest. It seemed she slumbered undisturbed, unaware of his thoughts. With great care, he moved Hinoka off him and onto the mattress. Once placed there she tossed fitfully onto her side, curling towards him— but did not wake. He slid off the bed, slowly to cause the least disruption, and tucked the blankets about his wife.

Marx had occupied this room long enough to navigate it by memory and reached the dresser without issue. He grabbed necessary articles, then unbolted the door, and changed in the solar. Limpid eyes shone through the dark and he gave Sir Meu a scratch behind the ears before leaving. The outer door to his rooms Marx locked behind him with a key, taking note of the night guard as he passed them in the halls until he reached an entryway to the servant’s paths.

Anima lanterns were kept in these hidden halls, magic lighting them even when most of the castle was abed. It aided navigation of the somewhat maze-like paths, and soon enough the Nohrian prince tread into the servants’ quarters. He stepped as lightly as he could, but knocked when he found the desired door. When there was no response he knocked again, more firmly, and this time he heard faint noise from inside. One of the room’s occupants approached, he could tell by the low muttering.

“ …ridiculous…bells til dawn…must I…whole castle…incompetents, the lot of them…”

The door before the Nohrian prince was yanked open violently. Revealing a head of silver hair that was uncharacteristically unkempt, while color was high in his angry face. However, the expression disappeared as the man went pale and wide-eyed, mouth falling open.

“…who’s at the door?” A sleepy, feminine voice called from out of sight.

Without raising his voice, Marx called back, “My apologies, Dame Elfie, for calling upon your husband so early. Please remain abed and get your rest.”

“Mast- Er,” Joker cut himself off, his posture going rigid. “M-my lord! Excuse the sloppiness in my presentation, I wasn’t expecting-”

The silver-haired man was clearly flustered by being caught so out of sorts. Marx spared him from scraping and begging for pardon by interrupting, “Joker, I know it’s well before the appointed time but could you get dressed? I need to visit the Northern Citadel before our army departs.”

“At once, Prince Marx!” Joker turned and dashed away without closing the door.

It didn’t take long before the butler was properly dressed and they went to the mews. It took much more time for stablehands to be roused and wyverns made ready, then they flew through the pale dusk of early morning to the Northern Citadel. The resident staff was up, however, and ready to receive them— a curiosity answered once they went indoors and the first concubine welcomed their arrival.

“Marx, dear boy, it’s been far too long!” Dahlia flung her arms about him without reservation. She hugged him with a fierce strength that Marx remembered as a child had left him feeling smothered against her breast.

Despite now standing head and shoulders taller, some part of him still felt small and vulnerable before Dahlia. In the earliest years if his life, Ektrina had been confined abed most days and even at his smallest Marx had been made to understand the frailty of his mother’s health. During that time, it had largely been the first concubine who’d acted as his caretaker, raising him alongside her own daughter. Unlike Ektrina, she’d always freely given affection: kind words, pleased smiles, and strong embraces. That affection was like being engulfed in the water of a warm bath, and as a child he'd soaked it up like a sponge, hung on Dahlia's every word. Later with distance and time, he realized the disfavors of her coddling— how it had delayed him from growing out of childish weakness.

Still, fondness remained between them, so he spoke with a warm voice, “My apologies for disturbing you so early, Lady Dahlia.”

“Oh, you polite thing!” With a click of her tongue, the indigo haired woman finally released her hold, stepped back, and looked him in the eye. “How I long for the days you came up to my knee and called me Mama Lia. If only Ektrina hadn’t been so strict with your etiquette.”

At her rose-tinted nostalgia, Marx held in a sigh. “…Mother knew best, understanding the right things to say helped me overcome my shyness.”

“Mmmm, still something a sweet boy like you struggles with, isn’t it?” Dahlia smiled coyly, folding her hands under her chin. “I foresaw your visit. The Kilma’s daughters are both ready to receive you, although they’re nervous… so best not to make any sudden moves.”

The first concubine teased, but the Nohrian prince felt a tightness building within his chest. In the seven years the Freezians had been kept in the Northern Citadel he’d gone out of his way to avoid meeting them face to face. Initially it had been the nightmares that’d kept him far away, then it had simply become habit for his own comfort, until eventually he’d left to live in Krackenstein castle and put all thought of them out of mind. Now that he sought them out, it was difficult to keep the memories— bitingly cold wind stealing his breath, white snow bleeding red, the numbness at realizing the fallen wouldn’t rise again —from his mind. However, he steeled himself and requested to be guided to them.

Dahlia gave no farewell, save a little wave of her fingers. Then Marx turned with Joker trailing after, and they followed a servant to the salon where the Freezians awaited him.

It was a room appropriately far from the Citadel’s entrance, its double doors already propped open and its occupants seated at the end opposite. As they passed through the doorway the two women stood, both dressed in black gowns of modest cut— entirely Nohrian in style. Leo had informed him that the twins only wore their native clothing within their room at the top of the tower, so this must have been the Freezian’s usual compliance. Their deep bows to him were also entirely respectful.

"Crown Prince Marx, well met!" One of the women gave a wide smile that was ruined by how it trembled. "My sister and I are honored by this meeting."

Marx tipped his head in acknowledgement, “I shall endeavor to keep this brief.” He gestured for them to sit, and took a seat himself while Joker took up sentry by the doorway. “Your names?”

Rather than the pinkette answering, this time it was the blue-haired woman who spoke. “I am Flora, and this is Felicia. Pardon my asking, but for what reason have you graced us with your presence?”

Glad to cut to the chase, he replied, “I came because of your request to return to Freezia.”

Abruptly, the room’s temperature went from comfortable to cool, as if someone had left a window open on a winter’s night.

When Flora spoke, her tone was just as cold, “That letter was not addressed to _you_.”

He looked her square in the eye, refusing to appear intimidated. “Regardless, I’m the one delivering an answer. Did Princess Hinoka go into the restrictions of being her ladies?”

Felicia looked crestfallen, but Flora's expression was frozen with strained calm as she shook her head.

"Then I shall clarify. The Queen has granted permission for you to act as my wife’s ladies-in-waiting and move about freely within Krackenstein castle, the Northern Citadel, or travel between these locations with a proper escort. You are not permitted to leave the city of Vindam proper."

“Y-you mean, we can’t travel at all? Even for a short visit?” Felicia’s blue eyes were wide and pleading. For a moment, he wondered how many guardsmen had been taken in by such a pitiable face.

Marx shook his head. “Not at this time. Perhaps if good behavior is observed favors could be granted.”

A chill filled the room along with a smell like snow on the wind, and Marx's hands clenched— itched to wrap about the hilt of a sword.

“And how long will that take?” Disdain had broken through the Flora’s polite veneer, volume rising with each word. “Months? _Years?!_ ”

The pinkette seized her sister by the shoulders, “Flora, please, calm down!”

The two exchanged more words, but Marx had to concentrate to hear past the sudden pounding of blood in his ears. Only the movement of the blue-haired woman breaking from the other’s hold and kneeling on the ground before Marx, caught his focus from falling into remembrance. Despite a neutral expression covering Flora’s face, her gray eyes held a look he’d seen many a time— desperation.

“Please understand, Your Royal Highness. We’re honored by this position, but we’d thought some liberties would be extended alongside. Our village fares poorly and as the sanctioned heir it’s my duty to try to alleviate this. It’d be easier to do so after witnessing any problems firsthand.” Her flushed face tilted up, the tears gathered on her eyelashes seemed to glint like cut glass. “If you distrust us so, why then allow us to be anywhere near the Princess?”

His hands clenched as she gave voice to his concern, the very reason he’d even come here. Steeling himself, Marx gave a frank answer, “Because my wife requested this, on _your_ behalf. While none of us can forget the past, I do not hold any of it against either of you… I ask that you extend the same courtesy towards Princess Hinoka. She wasn’t a part of my family when I wronged yours.”

The Freezian made no reply, simply hung her head in defeat. It discomforted the Nohrian prince to the extent that he moved away, rising from his seat and stepping towards the door. When he looked back the other woman had joined her sister on the floor, giving a sheltering embrace. He’d seen that, that exact pose— two girls, huddled together crying miserably —Marx ripped his gaze away. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, swallowing against his rising gorge.

Marx knew he should say something, respond somehow, before he left. He took several deep breaths, then said, “Today my butler, Joker, will act as your escort. I hope that you both prove yourselves worthy of trust.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marx's pet cat, Sir Meu, was mentioned back in [Chapter 6](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4370321/chapters/12313172).
> 
> I based Hoshido's rice collection on Japan's tax system during the Edo period where the annual rice yields was the basis of taxation and the taxes themselves were levied and delivered in the form of that rice. And considering Hoshido has enough food to just let the extra rot, they're very prosperous with their abundance of resources (especially compared to Nohr).
> 
> Hinoka's memory was my own mishmash of [the Sakura/Kazahana A support](http://professor-tammi.tumblr.com/post/123073656817/sakurahana-support-translations) and [Hinoka/Tsubaki B support](https://pastebin.com/QtySj8Ld). The "punishments" from Sumeragi that followed were of my own devising.
> 
> Gave some hints at Marx's AMOS backstory, let me know if you guys have any thoughts about it.


	20. A Stranger Mirrored Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some possibly triggering content is in this chapter. If that concerns you, please read [this page](https://damoselceles.dreamwidth.org/7015.html) where the warning is detailed. Know that the trigger listing also acts as mild spoilers for this chapter.

The noble members of Shirazaki's court were notorious for being fashionable in all things. Within the city proper, one of the greatest revenues could be found in tailoring because there was always demand for the latest sokutai, jūnihitoe, and kimono in fashion. It'd been somewhat of a scandal that the high princess had known less about fashion than most courtiers, some had even used it as another point of criticism. Before coming to Nohr an entirely new set of kimonos had been sewn for Hinoka as part of her dowry, made with only the brightest of dyes and finest of silks. However, with how often she went riding, her tenma warrior uniforms had become Hinoka’s everyday outfit. Though she'd wouldn't admit it aloud, the comfort of it she'd be hard pressed to go without. Yet it seemed that day was perhaps at hand— as the Hoshidonese princess currently stood in the shop of Vindam's premier dressmaker, Seamstress Fontleroy.

It’d almost been like a performance, watching the seamstress dart between stacked bolts of fabric— cotton, linen, muslin, and other western textiles —and miscellaneous threads and lace within the myriad of shelves. The wooden shelving had allowed her to pull each type of fabric from its roll for interested customers without need for assistance. When they'd first arrived Fontleroy had been eager to show the Hoshidonese princess the cloth from such a roll. She'd touched the offering, a black brocade that was thick and soft, with a weave clearly displaying the crest of Nohr's royal house. It'd felt so very different from the embroidered silk of home, yet just as beautiful and luxurious.

Still, she hadn’t allowed them to tarry with browsing. Since Hinoka wasn’t there for herself, but rather so that Flora and Felicia could be outfitted appropriately— one of the stipulations set by Queen Ektrina. After the queen’s letter had granted permission, Hinoka had wasted no time in taking the Freezians as her ladies-in-waiting, signing the necessary documentation that very morning and having retrieved the sisters from the Northern Citadel before the midday meal. As her acting ladies, they had permission to travel alongside her. Yet, another caveat had been that they could only journey out into Vindam if a Nohrian royal retainer accompanied them— which was why Marx’s butler currently stood within the shop countering the seamstress’ every choice with a suggestion of his own.

"Rather than black velvet and lace, gowns of blue satin and white taffeta would suit these ladies when high court comes." Fontleroy said, one of her assistants scribbling notes in what looked to be a miniature book bound in Nohrian style. “With diamonds set in silver for the matching accessories.”

“Make the gems moonstones, if custom jewelry must be ordered,” Joker rebutted, throwing a disapproving glance at the middle-aged woman.

The seamstress gave a theatrical sigh. “Good sir, where’s your sense of artistry? These ladies shall be making their debut in court this coming winter at Princess Hinoka’s side. The Crown Prince’s newlywed wife is the talk of the capitol, and all the highborn will attempt to outdo Her Highness and her entourage. As the royal tailor, it's my job to make it obvious such a thing is quite impossible.” She shook her head, perfectly coiffed ringlets following the motion. “It must be diamonds.”

Hinoka’s tutors had mentioned in the past that all her lessons were in preparation for Nohr’s winter gathering, the high court.

Nohr was the largest kingdom in the west. History attested that this had happened through its rulers conquering the surrounding lands, unoccupied or otherwise. Even the natural boundary of the Chasm hadn't stopped Nohr from attempting to expand east— that was the entire reason Hoshido existed as a unified kingdom today. Before it'd been small, separate holdings that'd occasional fought yet coexisted not engaged in much more. With the outside threat of Nohr, it'd forced them to band together when their initial efforts to repel the invaders had fail. Only after they'd sworn fealty to the Dawn Dragon's high-priest, Hotoke, under his leadership had the Nohrian forces been successfully repelled.

Apparently following this, Nohr had taken such losses and expended so many resources that a majority of the army's commanders had refused to marshal any further forces. Their refusal had led to a civil war, but after the warmongering Queen Zegdrifa had been deposed and Queen Anya III was crowned had focus shifted from expansion to internal infrastructure. The high houses had been established then: splitting up the kingdom's sizable land into formal territories for governance. The high court had also been enacted, a time every winter where these vassals would gather before the ruler and be able to air any grievances or make requests.

In the centuries between then and now, it seemed this gathering had changed. It’d become an excuse for the highborn to display their own wealth and power while catering to the latest intrigue. High court was still seasons away from happening and already Hinoka was dreading it.

All the while during the seamstress and butler’s conversation, Felicia had stood on a wide, flat stool that was placed before multiple wall-length mirrors with a nervous smile plastered onto her face. The shop assistants continued to circle her, taking measurements of her height, waist, bust, and hips along with the span of her feet and hands. Her sister, Flora, had been in that same place some moments ago— before a different set of assistants and whisked her behind a changing screen. Watching the tedious process made the Hoshidonese princess glad that she needn’t stand there next.

Beside where Hinoka was seated, doing her best not to fidget, Asama muttered under his breath. “People starve in this city and they argue over gemstones?”

“…it’s not so bad,” Setsuna abruptly chimed in. “Mother once commissioned a robe made with twenty-four layers all of different silk patterns… silly because she ended up not being able to move in it.”

Asama scoffed and began to argue this wasn’t the same, before Hinoka shushed both of her retainers. Neither of them had ever enjoyed these sort of domestic outings, and the change in kingdom had evidently not improved their behavior. While she might not otherwise care, Hinoka knew their behavior could easily lead to gossip and couldn’t miss the way Joker had glanced their way with a sharp look.

“Ex-excuse me…” Felicia hesitantly spoke up, her words barely heard over the voices of the seamstress and butler.

Yet almost immediately Fontleroy raised one finger; the assistants abruptly stopped and the shop fell quiet. Seemingly satisfied the woman then turned towards the Freezian and asked, “What is it, Lady Felicia?”

“Uaawah, just Felicia is fine,” the pinkette twisted her fingers together, clearly flustered. “A-are you certain we need this many gowns? It’s just... so many.”

“Of course! You're now Nohrian ladies-in-waiting, to our future ruler no less.” The seamstress guffawed loudly, hand coming up to cover her mouth with a ladylike motion. “With her dowry, the only woman richer than Princess Hinoka within Nohr is Queen Ektrina. So, there’s no excuse to skimp.”

Hinoka felt her brow rise at the blunt words. She’d never thought of her dowry in those terms, how wealthy it made her in the eyes of Nohrians. Naturally Hinoka had been sent with a dowry that fitted her position of high princess and that could provide for her should anything go awry, adhering to the old tradition. It was also a substitute for her inheritance, since royal women marrying out of the Byakuya family did not receive any from their parents.

Dowries were known to cause problems— at least in Hoshido. Some brides became harassed by their matrimonial family wanting to use the wealth, or demands being made that the bride's family pay even greater sums that what was originally negotiation. A couple years ago there'd been a scandal between merchant families: the Hiten and Senou families. Disputes over the dowry had been made in the lower courts and steadily escalated higher until the King himself had to hold a hearing and pass final judgement. While Hinoka hadn't been privy to all the details of the case, Orochi had told her of how Kagerou had infiltrated the Senou household in the guise of a maid and witnessed the Hiten bride being physically struck by the Senou groom, repeatedly. Sumeragi had decreed the marriage dissolved and that the Senou had to pay reparations to the Hiten family. It was one of the few cases of divorce Hinoka was aware of, and the thought of anyone being harmed just for money both saddened and angered her.

Since coming to Nohr she’d hardly given her own dowry a spare thought. Other than the time she'd taken the pearls to Blanche, Marx had never inquired about what was to be done with any sum. Could that have been what Marx had been obliquely referring to when he’d told her the King Garon’s advisor wanted Hoshido’s wealth? If Hinoka's hunch was right, he'd even forbidden Iago from trying to manage it.

Oblivious to the Hoshidonese princess’ racing thoughts, Fontleroy clapped her hands together. “Do not fret, I am also aware of how _active_ an individual Her Highness is. Both you and Lady Flora are to be outfitted with proper uniforms before you leave today.”

Her clap broke the spell on the assistants, who hurried back to their former activities. Rather than turning back to Joker the seamstress began spouting off another gown design to the assistant holding the book. The silver-haired man’s eyes narrowed, but he’d apparently conceded that their former conversation had ended. For the best, as not long after the assistants from behind the changing screen emerged alongside Flora— whose attire was a shocking change.

Gone was the plain but modest gown she’d worn to the shop, and in its place a uniquely Nohrian ensemble. Although there were gaudy elements: gilded edges, clasps, and hanging ornaments. More shocking was the lack of cover: the center of her chest, midriff, and inner thighs were bared. Within the actual cloth, large swathes of material were sheer enough to reveal what lay underneath. The rest of the clothing hugged her frame tightly, and even then, an assistant was actively sewing together a back seam while she moved in it. Overall it didn't lend much more modesty than a set of smallclothes might.

Although it wasn’t without its artistry. There was exquisite detail on trim that lines the hems. Fontleroy had undoubtedly contributed to the embroidery, the intricate designs were a craftsmanship to be admired. Flora's pale blue hair had been gathered up into tails on either side of her head with black ribbons, framing her face which was currently flushed bright pink. Although Hinoka hadn't known the young woman for long, it was plain that she was uncomfortable and embarrassed by this new outfit.

When they came to a stop Fontleroy clapped her hands again, this time with excitement. The Hoshidonese princess found herself at a loss for words. However, as Asama stifled a laugh, Setsuna tilted her head in confusion then asked, “…what’s she wearing?”

Surprisingly, Joker answered. “Lady Flora is gifted with magical talent. Her Majesty made sure to grant her formal mage training, although she has yet to pass the official spell exam. This uniform was simply overdue, since technically she must wear this to be seen in public.”

It all clicked with the butler’s explanation: this was Nohr’s mage uniform. During the first six months Camilla had lived in Shirazaki’s palace, a retainer of her younger brother had remained— a Nohrian mage named Nyx. Because of her child-like appearance and stature, Hinoka had consistently grown upset over the revealing nature of her clothing. So much so, that her sister-in-law had eventually taken her aside and told her why Nyx dressed in that manner.

There was a law in Nohr that dark mages must not conceal weapons upon their person but instead carry them out in the open where the tomes could be inspected. It’d been decreed early in Nohr’s history when it was discovered that the ruler, young and newly crowned, had been manipulated by a magical advisor through a hex that was kept concealed within his bulky robes. Once the controlling instrument had been destroyed the ruler returned to himself and passed ordinances to try and prevent such a thing from ever happening again. Though many speculated that he did so vengefully— wanting to also shame those magically capable of controlling others. Many addendums had been added throughout the subsequent years, such as mages upon mounts being able to wear fully covering armor and clothing— but the revealing uniform worn by foot-bound mages could all be traced back to that ancient event.

Camilla had gone onto explain that within Nohr’s court there was a divide on opinion. Some believed that there was no need to change a working system, most of these had no connection to actual dark mages who lived within these laws. Others wanted change to come and drew attention to the matter in whatever legal ways they could. Her sister-in-law admitted that her own tendency toward low-cut, revealing clothing was a habit she adopted as an adolescent to protest the conditions that her mother lived under.

Like Hoshido, it seemed Nohr also had its inconvenient policies of bygone eras.

“Yes, yes, and Lady Flora has the added benefit of not worrying over catching cold even if she wasn’t wearing a stitch.” Fontleroy winked at the blue-haired Freezian, whose blushed only deepened. Then the seamstress looked to the twin and announced with a flourish, “Now, it’s your turn to get all kitted up, Lady Felicia.”

The pinkette squeaked and shook her head, but was quickly ushered off the stepstool and taken behind the changing screens by the industrious assistants. She wasn’t the seamtress’ only victim. The middle-aged woman rounded on the butler with a spin of her ringlets. “Lord Jakob could you take Lady Flora for a turn about the shop? Yohannes and Bekka will follow and check that she has a full range of movement in the uniform.”

He frowned, clearly displeased by the request, possibly because it was beneath him or the identity of who’d made it. Flora looked so miserable standing there, being talked over, it’d be a mercy to quickly comply and get her out of that outfit as soon as possible. So Hinoka interceded, “Joker, please.”

His expression immediately shifted into a polite smile. “At once, my lady.” The silver-haired man maintained the expression as he offered his elbow, even as the one on the receiving end of the offer gained a pinched expression. Grey eyes glanced to Hinoka and she gave her best encouraging smile. Flora took Joker’s arm, then they made their way around the shop’s aisles full of fine fabrics with a couple assistants trailing after them.

Fontleroy said something in a whisper to the assistant next to her that’d been writing down notes, who handed the older woman the small book and then darted out of sight. The seamstress approached Hinoka with a smile, “All the measurements I've taken today have been as delightful as they’ve been inspiring. Yet as intriguing as your ladies are, Your Highness is truly a unique beauty in this kingdom. Should it be permitted I’d love to share possibilities for your attire.”

Asama began to mutter about frivolity under his breath, so to spare the seamstress any of the priest’s harsh words the Hoshidonese princess rose from her chair and met the older woman half-way. Fontleroy turned the book in her hands to reveal its interior pages, which were filled not only with script but also sketches of dress designs. One was all sharp angles, while another was rounded puffs, each page holding something different from the last yet all so very Nohrian in aesthetic. Hinoka had already worn one of Fontleroy's creations at the spring tournament— the green almost black gown. She’d found it relatively comfortable, despite how her arms, shoulders, and back had been exposed. Only the halter-cut bodice of it had survived the escape from the burning crime den, but its former glory remained in the onyx studwork.

After a decent amount of time examining the book where the Hoshidonese princess had made appropriate compliments and remarks, Fontleroy closed it and primly cleared her throat. “Princess Hinoka, this appointment was meant for your ladies, but… I’m afraid I couldn’t help myself. We’ve had your measurements on hand since before the wedding, and we made an ensemble especially for you. It’d give me the greatest pleasure should you try it on here and now!”

Hinoka gave a placating smile and did her best to act demure. “As flattered as I am, I don’t think you’d want me wearing such valuable clothes while I’m… flowering.”

Her menses had come that morning with a fierce clawing at her belly, and she’d woken to find herself alone in Marx’s bed. The blood-stained sheets had filled Hinoka with a sense of relief and longing. She hadn’t known until that moment how part of her had held onto the thought that its absence meant she had been with child, but this was for the best. It meant her body had recovered from the poison, and that bearing children was still a possibility within her future.

Mozume had been a godsend, providing the Hoshidonese princess with a cloth belt so that she was fit to go out— although Nohrians padded with sheep’s wool rather than moss. Her handmaid had then offered to fetch a drink for her discomfort, and after the fiasco of last week Hinoka had turned down black dragon root tea and asked for ginger instead. Again, displaying her ignorance as Krackenstein castle stocked none fresh as it was exclusively imported from Izumo. Thankfully, there'd been an Nohrian equivalent made with the local plant called sage which had helped soothe the pains.

The seamstress however was undeterred, instead determined look steeled her made-up face. “My lady, please do not underestimate me. I tailor for countless women in this city, and it would not do for appointments to be disrupted by our monthlies. I implore you to allow me to ply my craft.”

After a few more halting attempts at deflection, the Hoshidonese princess gave into Fontleroy’s relentless demands and allowed them to coax her onto the stepstool, then the assistants moved a different set of changing screens to surround her. Once she’d shed the outfit she’d worn for the day, the seamstress and her assistants helped to speedily undress Hinoka, even removing her sarashi. Yet they were good to the seamstress’ word and left her lower smallclothes undisturbed, the padded linen of the cloth belt secured between her legs. They then redressed her in lacy Nohrian undergarments made of muslin thin enough that she had to suppress the urge to cross her arms as they slipped on gloves and stockings. Thankfully the next layer was a muslin slip of thicker weave that afforded her some modesty, before they moved the changing screens away, and fitted clothing completely unfamiliar onto her. It was called a corset, a structural undergarment from the high fashion of Markas. Fontleroy bragged this article had been made with wyvern boning as they snuggly fit the corset to her body. The laces at its back were pulled tight— this caused its rigid structure to cinch her waist further and pushed up her breasts in a way that wasn't precisely comfortable. Hinoka couldn’t dwell on it long as more layers were added in a flurry of movement, and she was soon weighted down by the dress.

Hinoka felt her brow furrow as she stared down her reflection in the wall-length mirror. The gown was completely foreign to her in its design: puffed skirts, sheer fabrics, and an excess of ribbons. The shaping of the corset and the fullness of its skirts created an exaggerated curve along her hips. While her own scarf still covered her neck, the gown's neckline was so wide that her shoulders and collarbones were bare, and it dipped low enough that her cleavage created by the corset was put on display. So completely different from the elegant lines and comfortable modesty of a kimono.

Princess Camilla with her voluptuous curves and daring tastes would’ve perfectly fit this corseted gown, she was sure. Yet the longer Hinoka looked at herself, the more it felt like an imposter stared back. Although her hips were far from narrow, full of breast she was not and likely would never be— if those were the measures of Nohrian beauty, she was simply lacking. A thought that Marx might think so constricted her chest just as much as the corset.

The seamstress’ reaction was quite different. Fontleroy clapped and immediately chattered of how well Markas's latest fashion trend suited her. The Hoshidonese princess didn’t know what the previous trend had been, and was afraid to ask what part of the gown they’d squeezed her into was the current one.

“Your Highness, how does the gown feel?”

 _Wrong._ “…it’s a little tight around the middle.”

“Well, we could loosen the stays as your frame is naturally petite. And I think it would be better if the bustle was altered…” The seamstress then went on a tangent, suggesting adjustments and alterations to be made.

Thankfully, the outer portions were removed and until the Hoshidonese Princess was left standing in the petticoats, corset, and smallclothes. Rather than immediately preforming the mentioned loosening, they pinned fabric and continued to talk among themselves. While she stood there, Hinoka allowed her mind to drift— wondering where Marx was in that moment and what he was doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun history trivia, the dress Marilyn Monroe is famous for wearing in her "happy birthday, Mr. President" performance had to be sewn together at the back while she wore it. Since spandex and elastic hadn't been perfected by the 1960s. So every time I see skin-tight clothing in a period setting, I assume that’s what has to happen... like with the Dark Mage outfits.
> 
> Speaking of which, the passage concerning Nohr's policy of mage uniforms may look familiar to long-time readers as it used to be in an earlier chapter. I moved it here for relevancy's sake.
> 
> Seamtress Fontleroy named in honor of a fellow fan who'd hoped the Treehouse would invoke [Little Lord Fontleroy](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_Lord_Fauntleroy) as Foleo's localized name (didn't happen).
> 
> IAWG has over 300 kudos and 10k hits, thanks so much! This and last chapter was cozier (I'd love to hear any thoughts) next chapter plot will kick back into action.


	21. Blood From A Stone, part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some possibly triggering content is in this chapter. I seriously advise readers to to read [this page](https://damoselceles.dreamwidth.org/7240.html) where the warning is detailed. Know that the trigger listing also acts as mild spoilers for this chapter.

By the time Marx had flown from the Northern Citadel back to Krackenstein castle the day had dawned. The first muted rays of the sun had lightened the clouds in the overcast sky, glinting off the rows of armed and armored soldiers as they’d marched from Krackenstein’s courtyards into the capitol. Vindam’s city guard, the militia from neighboring territories, and the royal troops had all been gathered. To an average onlooker, they might’ve mistaken the march for drills which were performed every season. Only this time rather than simply performing maneuvers, the squads had traveled to actual targets— not that the citizenry or even castle staff had known.

After he’d returned the borrowed wyvern to the mews, gone to the armory, donned his full suit of plate and mail, the Nohrian prince had hurried to the courtyard where he’s spied his father and brother. They were still there talking together and overlooking the army, while a couple retainers stood nearby with saddled and barded mounts. He spied Froh and a familiar brown gelding with the horses. Holding the leads, Cyrus stood alongside Zero; which was peculiar as Gunther’s protégé, he would serve at the knight’s side during battle rather than the prince’s. Marx didn’t dwell on the thought long, as his father looked towards him with a grin.

“So eager that you were up even before the King?”

As the Nohrian prince had suspected they’d been awaiting him. He made to bow and said, “For the delay, I beg forgiveness-”

Garon abruptly clapped Marx on the back, smile wide. “No need, my son. For today we’ll make everything right. These upstarts must pay for thinking they could strike at _us_ , the Dusk Dragon’s chosen! By the will of the heavens, this rot will finally be cut out of Nohr. Both of you will channel the might of the gods today.”

His father turned and Marx saw what was grasped by his other hand— the dark blade, Siegfried. A glance at his brother confirmed that Brynhildr was crooked in Leo’s arm. The sight shouldn’t have surprised him, yet Marx hadn’t touched this holy sword since his duel with Hoshido’s High Prince a season ago. When he’d held Siegfried that day Marx had almost felt compelled to fight, as if the swords themselves had desired to clash. Still that’d been an anomaly; all members of royal house Anya knew these relics were irreplaceable and would’ve normally been locked within the royal treasury vault behind guard. After all, they’d been maliciously hidden during Gavril’s coup which had delayed Garon’s legitimate ascension to the throne, for only trueborn dragon-blooded could wield them.

If the king had brought Nohr’s Holy Weapons out from the royal vault, it meant he took this upcoming battle most seriously. From the darker concerns of Marx’s mind came a thought that maybe it was because his father didn’t believe him capable enough without it, since he’d failed against Ganz before… since he was weak. Despite all his training, his efforts to be strong, he'd been brought low in a way he couldn't forget. How could he expect others to do so? That dark thought grasped at Marx, twisting cruelly like fingers yanking his hair, and his hands clenched out of reflex.

His father caught the movement of his fists, and he chuckled. “No need to delay further, is there? Here.”

Garon held the holy weapon out to him; Marx took the sheathed sword with stiff hands. Even wearing gloves and gauntlets, the moment he touched it— Siegfried called to him from its sheath, its immaterial voice keen enough to thrum against his skull. Its power always felt like a not-quite-consciousness connecting itself to him. As an adolescent he’d once asked an even younger Leo what holding Brynhildr felt like, and his brother had described it like a sprout longing to be nurtured into full bloom. Regardless, Marx understood that one couldn’t allow the weapons’ impulses to overtake them, a lesson that’d cost him dearly in Freezia.

“Now that we’re all here and properly armed, a victory prayer will be offered.” Garon barked, “Bring the sacrifice!”

The Nohrian king’s words jolted through Marx, pushing the sword’s voice to the back of his mind. Yet Leo was the one to voice doubts, asking, “Father, why make an offering against criminal rabble?”

Garon bared his teeth in a savage grin. “Simple, my son. Our enemy wishes death upon us, upon Nohr. He has even called upon his own allies from outside Vindam. This is war and no quarter can be given.”

 _You’re sure you want to do this?_ The question was left unspoken as Marx bit his tongue.

A prayer to the Dusk Dragon for victory always required one thing: a blood sacrifice. Teachings stated the closer the sacrifice was to one’s heart, the better chance became that one’s prayer would be favorably received. After all, their patron deity had first appeared when in despair over her massacred warband Anya had tried to drown herself in the waters of Krackenburg’s spring and after surviving had cut open her own throat. The Dusk Dragon manifested, miraculously healed her through sharing divine blood, then forbid Anya to die by anyone else’s hand. The legend of Nohr’s First Queen, their royal house, and why it was cursed to harm a dragon-blooded— their deaths belonged to the gods alone.

Making a prayer for victory meant their father would be offering something precious to himself, and had Marx feeling past failures in dealing with these would-be assassins all the more keenly.

Already his father’s advisor had appeared leading a couple of servants that brought forth an unsaddle horse, albeit all walking slowly. Its coat was duller, back had more sway, and step contained less bounce than Marx had seen in warhorses housed within the castle stables. Most destriers didn't survive to old age, and only a truly indulgent, wealthy owner could pay for the care for such an elderly animal.

Yet as it drew closer Marx spied a resemblance to Froh, in the shape of the head and sturdy build— this was likely the stallion that had sired his own dear mount. His gorge rose at the certainty that once crowned king, he’d be the one choosing and making sacrifices before battle. Letting his gaze fall away from the sight of Iago handing over the sacrificial knife, Marx instead focused on securing Siegfried’s sheath to his sword-belt and baldric.

Only a firm shove against his shoulder had the Nohrian prince’s head whipping back up. His father’s stare and tone were grim as he said, “The eyes of the gods are upon us, do not look away.”

“…yes, my king.” Swallowing down his ill feelings, Marx did as he was bid.

He watched as the servants threw more lassoed ropes under the horse’s head to keep him still for the ritual. The old stallion snorted and his milky eyes rolled, obviously distraught. Garon stepped forward and took the lead rope attached to the bridle, then pet his free hand down the animal’s nose. Despite the many ropes, the horse leaned towards the king and soon quieted, clearly trusting the man.

In a moment of weakness, Marx glanced away and looked to his brother. Leo’s cool gaze was locked onto the event before them, expression seemingly neutral. Only the way he stood with his arms holding Brynhildr tight against his chest like a shield gave away his discomfort.

Marx barely heard Garon murmur, "Apologies for taking you from the pastures and fine mares, my friend. I am in need of your strength one last time..."

He looked back and watched his father scratch at the horse’s forelock fondly, before the older man stepped to face the troops standing at attention. With a loud voice the king bade the Dusk Dragon move with the shadows of their army, use their mettle to smite all who’d stand against them and drink deeply— a rallying cry swept through the troops. The Nohrian prince forced himself to watch as the knife was raised to the sacrifice’s bared neck and blood spilled over the stones below.

 

 

 

 

The contemplative quiet of that early morning was gone. Instead, the harsh clash of steel carried between the buildings in echoing bursts, shouts welled up from out of sight and carried through the air— transforming the city into a battlefield. Froh stamped his hooves, horseshoes loud against the cobblestone, likely unsettled by the noise and his current idleness. Marx patted his mount’s neck through the barding, doing his best to not give away his own restlessness by shifting in the saddle.

Split between commanders, their assembled forces had moved on the outer ring with the aim to assault all Red Horn hideouts at once. The Nohrian crown prince and his troops had met up with a contingent of the Green Scales; together they’d successfully besieged and captured several northern locations and it was currently just past midday. The speed of their success could in part be attributed to Ashura’s gang who’d staked out the targets weeks beforehand, alongside the aid of King Sumeragi’s retainer.

Lady Orochi stood not far from the Nohrian prince and his horse, as the both of them were overseeing their forces performing one last sweep of a hideout to ensure that no criminals had been missed. The Hoshidonese noblewoman could’ve easily been mistaken for a regular Vindam citizen in that black dress, boots, with hair gathered tight and covered by a handkerchief. Her disguise for blending in while keeping an eye on the Kohgans. However, the wooden spell tags currently held by her hand gave away the truth— she was a spellcaster from the East, of no small power. Many criminals had been taken out by the spirits she’d conjured: fiery bulls and freezing vermin. The foreign magic had sewn both panic and destruction; it made him thankful his father had brokered peace with the other kingdom well-before he could take to the battlefields.

Almost as if she’d sensed his thoughts, Lady Orochi glanced up and caught Marx’s eye. “Prince Marx, your soldiers seem to have things in hand here.”

He nodded. “Nohr’s martial training is rigorous, they are more than prepared.”

“I’m sure they’d be proud of such praise from their commander and liege.” While her words bore no insult, her tone skirted teasing and her smile was more of a smirk. “I confess, before journeying here I’d been curious if all talk of Nohrians being born conquerors was true. Your people do have quite a bloodthirst.”

This time Marx didn’t respond. He’d read the missives from their agents within the Green Scales concerning the movements of this Hoshidan and Ashura— there’d been many unsavory things she’d encountered, uglier sides of the city that he hoped to shield his wife and younger sister from. While nothing excused those who broke the law and caused suffering, he did understand many were desperate to keep their families and themselves fed, willing to take the worst sorts of work. He’d only ever heard of Shirazaki’s plentiful bounty, impenetrable walls, and peaceful streets, so it was doubtful Lady Orochi had seen the like there.

Before either of them could comment further, a commotion drew both their attentions. A horse was running full tilt towards them, its rider covered in full armor— tabard bearing a sigil of a Nohrian high house. The palfrey scrambled to a halt a pace away, its flanks heaving and foam dribbling from its mouth. Its rider looked not much better as he drew up the visor of his helm, face flushed and sweating.

Cyrus’ green eyes were wide as he shouted, “Your Highness, Sir Gunther calls for aid!”

Marx didn’t hide his frown. “I heard no trumpet blown.”

“Sir Gunther ordered us not to, my lord. He believes it would marshal not only our forces, but the Red Horns.” Cyrus’ words burst out in a rush, his breathing just as quick as he continued, “Messengers were also sent to Prince Leo. Ashura told us- he told us they needed the best reinforcements we could provide. Told us he has Ganz cornered.”

At the mention of the name Marx sat taller in the saddle and gathered the reins tighter. Siegfried hung heavy at his side, the red gem in its hilt gleaming at the promise of violence. The younger knight kept talking, rattling off directions to reach Gunther’s current position.

“That old man really thinks a rat is so easily cornered? Something seems off…” The Hoshidonese diviner abruptly reached down the front of her bodice and pulled out additional wooden spell tags, spreading them out in her hand like a fan. “Let me consult the spirits with a quick reading.”

“I cannot wait. Sir Cyrus, remain here with Lady Orochi and oversee these troops.” Marx gave the order, then spurred Froh into movement before either could reply.

Despite the fact that the masonry was newer the farther one traveled from Vindam's inner ring, disrepair in the construction also became more evident as one went further towards the city's outermost wall. The roads were also narrower here, because of ramshackle shelters and mounds of detritus. Cavalry units could only ride two horses abreast, thus the majority of their deployed forces had been infantry. However, with only one mount and rider the streets were simple to traverse, and Marx quickly reached the destination.

The squadron led by Gunther had taken defensive formations, spreading out and assuming positions along the length of the open road. Fast approaching, Marx was able to see that they’d been unable to advance because of various debris and rubble having been piled high enough to block the path. Behind that, a group of armed assailants were using it as a fortification and took shots at any soldier that exposed themselves or came within range.

With another glance he found his retainer. The old knight was crouched low on foot while his destrier stood behind the highest pile, arrows stuck in both his shield and its barding. Gunther’s helmet turned, towards the noise of Marx’s approach, and immediately his gauntleted hand rose in a signal for his men to hold their positions.

Assured that Froh wouldn’t be trampling any of his own men, Marx sank his weight against the stirrups and leaned further forward. He freed a hand from the reins, and unsheathed Siegfried. Power radiated off the dark metal like echoing voices. It pulled at his mind, compelling him to bring all who stood against them low. The sword’s dark magic filled his belly with its own desperate hunger.

A volley of arrows came at them. The prince merely held the holy sword aloft and a pulse of its power echoed outwards, knocking the projectiles from the air and causing the stones below to grind. Froh broke into gallop without prodding, joining the frenzied energy of the battlefield like only a true warhorse could. Marx braced himself as the stallion jumped over the impromptu barricade and landed hard. Most of the criminals had scrambled out of the way but Froh kicked, stomped, and bit at any close and more than one met their end under his mount's hooves.

It apparently galvanized the mob to try an attack, the gang members struck out with a variety of weaponry— all shoddily crafted, and unable to penetrate the barding or his own plate and mail. Without mercy Marx swung Siegfried, it's power shadowing the movement of each arc. The edge of its divinely honed blade parted flesh, bone, and metal with little resistance. Even those who kept their distance were hewn when Marx released his ironclad control and allowed the sword’s dark energy to leap off the metal to reach its prey.

Despite its unwieldy size, in his hand the holy weapon felt no heavier than a mortal-forged broadsword and he was able to wield it with almost unreal speed. The first time he'd seriously fought an enemy with Siegfried it'd been shocking, they'd fallen almost too quickly. Now he was glad for it, that opponents fell around him like late summer wheat under the reaper's scythe. In what felt like mere moments silence fell, only he and his mount were left standing alive.

Marx swung his arm, flicked the lingering blood off the holy sword, and moved it back to his side. The voices clamored for more, hunger cramping his own belly, unsated by the brief battle. With a thick swallow he stifled the sensations and successfully resheathed the blade and released the hilt. Immediately the voices ceased— the silence and awareness that followed sheathing Siegfried always left Marx feeling raw and jangled. His blood raced and breaths were shallow, the hard ride and engaging the enemy hadn't left him unaffected. During the battle the struggle and thrill of victory would carry him, but once it was over there was no ignoring the life he'd taken.

A cheer rose up behind him, burying the moment of disquiet. The Nohrian prince drew in a weary breath, held it for a moment, then released it in a steady exhale. He then looked back and found the troops reforming ranks; Gunther was once again on horseback and in lead.

He called to his retainer, “Where is Ashura?”

“Just northwest of here, the major guardpost fell and is currently occupied by Red Horn. Reportedly, the Kohgan’s gang have it surrounded but little more than that.” Gunther and his horse had trotted over to the barrier as he called back. Soon enough the older man was close enough to lift his visor as he said, “Prince Marx, wait but a moment and we can march together.”

Denial of the request was on the tip of his tongue, wanting to ride ahead unencumbered. Yet Marx knew even with Siegfried at his side he was but a mortal man. So instead he nodded, “I welcome your strength.”

When they arrived at the roads leading to guardpost, the corpses in Vindam’s uniformed hanged from the rooftop made it plain that it’d indeed been overtaken. Gang-members jeered loudly from atop its battlements, more impromptu barricades of debris blocked the pathways. Arrows lay scattered over the surrounding area and dark puddles that must’ve been hot oil thrown down on any who tried to besiege the entryway. All this had them keeping the troops back out of range, the Nohrian Prince broke off to ride the perimeter and seek out the leader of the Green Scales.

However, it was Ashura who found him with a shouted, “ _Oi_ , Prince!” The Kohgan demonstrated impressive dexterity, running along unevenly sloped rooftops and scaling walls. until he landed on the street. He scowled, “Took you long enough. Was the report of a bald muscle-head cornered here not enough to rush over?”

Marx overlooked the blatant disrespect and asked, “We’re here now. Has Ganz shown himself?”

“No, and it’s just like him, a coward to the core. We’ll have to drag him out kicking and screaming.” Ashura shook his head. “But unless you’ve got a siege weapon hidden in your saddlebags, I don’t know how we’re supposed to get in. This building’s fortified and the Reds have all the goodies your guards stored in there.”

There was a twisted sort of logic for Ganz to try and secure himself within an actual fortification, these posts were well stocked in case of riots or sieges from outside the city. He might’ve been hoping to wait out their attack and sneak away at a later time, perhaps under the cover of night or during a lull in the battle. If Ashura was right and they needed to bring siege equipment, it’d take a long while to bring any down from the high walls. Such a delay was enough to make Marx consider making a direct assault himself with Siegfried and hope he could weather retaliation long enough to break open the gate.

Despite his doubts on why his father had given him the holy sword for this battle, Marx would gladly unleash its wrath against the Red Horns, the crime lord would fall with full knowledge that he could never match this gods-given power. His blood sparked with a thrill— not his own but Seigfried’s —and immediately Marx’s conscious was pricked by guilt. This army had not been amassed to assuage his own ego, it was to rid the city of a scourge. He was the Crown Prince of Nohr, meant to defend his people, his wife. They were all counting on him for protection and to uphold the laws of the land. Those were the goals Marx trained his mind upon as he replied, “It’d be best if we could take out those atop, before anything else.”

Ashura gave a deep sigh. “That’s what we’ve been trying! But that guardpost is the tallest building in the area other than the outer wall itself. Reds aren’t exactly idiots either, they’re using the battlements to the fullest and having mages pick off any of my archers who dare fire. Do you have anything better?”

Almost seemingly in answer, a makeshift barricade broke apart— the middle lifted up by the branches of trees that erupted from the ground. After they’d grown tall, two horses passed by the trunks carrying the second Nohrian prince and his retainers. Leo’s lips were moving in incantation, Brynhildr's magic curled out from the ink script on its open pages and buried itself in the earth like plant tendrils. Once he and Zero passed through, he closed the holy tome and ceased chanting, the magical trees vanished and sent debris crashing back onto the street.

Leo tipped his head respectfully to Marx, then looked to Ashura. “I overheard the problem. There’s no one within the guard post we need to take alive, correct?”

“Yeah, they killed all the legitimate guards,” the Kohgan answered with a quizzically cocked brow.

The Nohrian prince recognized the canny gleam in his brother’s eye, and steered Froh aside so that his brother had a clear view of the battlements beyond. The upper-bodies of the criminals were visible even from their low vantage point, as the criminals looked out to sling insults and jeers. Without another word Leo cracked open the holy tome, he began chanting as he raised a hand skyward. Froh pawed the earth uneasily as Marx felt the first tug of magic pulling at his hair and swaying loose cloth, almost like a stray breeze.

The holy tome of Byrnhildr in its entirety glowed, its power a mirror to Seigfried's own. Above the battlements an orb of magic manifested, dark and thunderous— Marx had to brace himself and rein his mount against the sudden pressure drawing all things towards it. Leo lowered his arm, directing the orb downwards. On the roof below the spell the criminals had fallen flat; the few visible were clinging to the crenels and scrambling to stand, yet they remained prone as it descended. The orb grew in size while seemingly eating up sound, as Marx could hear no screams despite seeing the open mouths.

When the spell made contact the building itself buckled, brick and mortar sent flying through the air. The human bodies and armor proved far more fragile, thoroughly crushed beneath the magical weight. Leo ceased his chanting and dissipated the orb with a wave of his hand— leaving a gruesome aftermath of broken stone, twisted metal, blood, and viscera.

“There, problem solved,” his brother said with a sigh. Leo’s face was paler compare to when he’d arrived and dotted with sweat. Marx reflexively reached out when his brother began to sway in the saddle, but Zero was there in an instant curling a supportive arm about the second prince. The former outlaw kept his gaze on his lord, even as Leo sent an irritated glare at all of them. “Well, what’re you all waiting for?”

Without further delay Ashura gave a whistle, low and long. Green Scales darted from the alleyways and shadows of the rooftops, moving on the remains of the building heedless of the arrows and spells from the embrasures. A trumpet sounded, and Nohr soldiers charged in the same manner. The street surrounding the guardpost was quickly filled by jostling bodies, all struggling against the closed gate.

It’d do no good for him to add to the crush, so the Nohrian prince remained where he was and watched. The inaction had tension coiling through his body, and he gritted his teeth as the barest of whispers scraped against his skull. A glance confirmed that Siegfried’s gem gleamed bright, hungering for battle, but he made no move to reach for its hilt.

Leo abruptly leaned forward and away from the man at his back. Fixing his glare onto the gang leader, he said, “The messenger said Ganz was here. Ashura, what makes you think this?”

“Several of mine reported a large, bald man among the group that captured this guardpost.”

“What about the rest of the man’s appearance?”

Ashura reluctantly glanced away from the siege, “What about it?”

“Was he dark skinned, like a Kas?”

His persistent questions added to Marx’s tension. “Brother, why do you ask?”

“Because there’s been rumors than a criminal from Markas, Gazak, recently was sighted in Vindam. He’s also a large and bald man.” Leo huffed out a breath and, shifting back, leaned into Zero.

Marx’s chest felt tight. The doubt had him wanting to leave, to turn Froh towards the inner circle and spur him on— to personally ensure Hinoka's safety. However, the king had ordered him to fix his mistake and find Ganz personally. She wouldn't be safe so long as the crimelord survived, and he'd already failed once but this time would remove this threat. Until he'd succeeded Marx had to stay, and see it through. He trusted Joker to protect his wife.

Still, Marx rounded on Ashura and demanded, “Could this be true? Why would you tell us Ganz was here, without knowing?”

The Kohgan actually flinched, then narrowed his eyes as he snapped, “The assumption was made on good information. How can I be certain what’s inside the place we’re still trying to break into!?”

Marx’s hands tightened on the reins as frustration stirred the embers of his temper to life. He sank his weight against the stirrups and leaned forward. His right hand itched with the impulse to strike out and show this man his place, accompanied by the thrum of a thrill.

However, an eerily familiar commotion drew all their attentions. A palfrey clamored to a halt, one of it’s two riders dismounting before the animal was completely still. Dark purple hair was a tangle about her face, handkerchief missing, and the woman paid it no mind as she gathered her skirts and ran at them. Marx's hot anger and frustration all went cold at Orochi's yelled words, “This is a trick, Ganz isn’t here. The princess is in danger!"

The chime of the bell over the shop’s door jingling drew Hinoka out from her daydreams, and had her again noticing the constricting discomfort of the corset. Although she glanced back towards the sounds, even while standing on a footstool the changing screens were too high for her to see over. However, with the volume that the newcomer spoke, she easily overheard the conversation at the front of the shop.

“Madam Fontleroy, it is I! Bringing roses for the city’s favorite tailor.” It was a flamboyant, masculine voice, one she’d never heard before, another customer perhaps?

“My lord, welcome.” The other voice was more subdued, one of the seamstress’ many assistants likely. “I’m afraid we’ve no other appointments scheduled for today.”

“There must be a mistake, you know how punctual I am!”

Seamstress Fontleroy ceased pinning swatches of fabric to Hinoka’s underskirts and the chatter with her assistants went quiet, their attention undoubtedly going towards the front of the store.

“Of course, my lord, but there must’ve been a mix up. Please allow me to reschedule-”

“By the gods, I’m being thrown out! For whose sake must I suffer this treatment?”

“My lord, please, you’re not allowed-”

The masculine voice interrupted with an angry refusal, and loud stomping made his approach obvious. Fontleroy heaved a put-upon sigh, then turned to the Hoshidonese princess with a bowed head. “A thousand pardons, Princess Hinoka, please wait here.”

Hinoka was tempted to accept the offer, hide away while the older women dealt with the ill-mannered customer. Yet the idea of sitting idly by also bothered her, reminding her of the weeks she’d felt restless and bored in this kingdom— and that ultimately made up her mind. After clearing her throat to gain the seamstress’ attention, Hinoka suggested, “It’d be faster if we dealt with him together, wouldn’t it?”

“O-oh yes! Thank you, Your Highness,” Fontleroy bowed and then with a snap of her fingers directed her assistants.

Hinoka turned away from facing the mirrors, ignoring the embarrassment of being caught underdressed— albeit by Nohrian standards, she could get away with far less. The seamstress’ assistants moved the changing screen aside and revealed the noisy troublemaker half-way through the shelves of fabrics. It was a man who had pale hair gathered into a tail at the back of his head, sharp Nohrian facial features, neatly-kept extravagant clothing, and held a flower bouquet. His narrowed eyes swept over the shop’s staff and immediately latched onto her with a recognition that she lacked.

“Your Royal Highness, this is such an honor.” He dipped into a quick bow. The man’s previous indignation had suddenly vanished under a gracious tone, and the Hoshidonese princess had to hold back a scoff.

“Viscount Funk, you rascal.” Fontleroy’s reprimand sounded more teasing than chiding. “You know better than to storm in on another customer’s appointment.”

His expression shifted into a smile, although still pinched. “I beg forgiveness, Madam, you know how I sometimes lose my temper.”

“Yet it’s the Princess you an apology, not I.”

Hinoka didn’t flinch as they both looked to her, instead she stared back and with that closer look found him vaguely familiar. It was the bouquet of white ever-blooming roses which he held that jogged her memory. She'd met this man before— in Krackenstein castle's grand hall as one of the many noble guests who'd come to celebrate her marriage to the Crown Prince. This man, a Viscount from a northern territory, had greeted her with an offering of that same flower, then almost seemed to gloat when she'd accepted the offering. Only after he’d strutted away had Marx muttered about flaunting dandies then she’d handed the flower off to Joker, and nearly forgotten the entire event had happened.

Considering Fontleroy was the city’s premier seamstress a Nohrian nobleman, especially a clotheshorse, coming here wasn’t solely serendipity. Yet there was something in the glint of his eyes that had the Hoshidonese princess suspect this wasn’t an accidental meeting at all.

“Madam Fontleroy is correct, Your Highness. I offer my deepest apologies,” Viscount Funk dipped once again into a bow.

When he took a step closer, Hinoka spoke up, “I did not give you permission to approach.”

His smile faltered, likely from the sternness of her tone one that was a warning in itself. While she hadn’t had many opportunities to use this tone in Vindam, she’d had a lifetime of practice forcing Hoshidan lords to acknowledge her authority. They’d often tried to make her feel small with their derisive voices alone and she’d quickly learned which replies best silenced them.

“Of course, please forgive such over eagerness, my lady,” his own voice had become supplicatory as he stood straight. She’d heard such beseeching many times when her father held court in Shirazaki, and it’d always come from the most self-serving of the courtiers. He began to extend the flower bouquet, “May I-”

Hinoka cut him off with a shake of her head. “My purpose here is not to greet or entertain, so no. If you could leave once your appointment has been rescheduled, I’d be grateful.”

Frustration and some darker emotion flashed over his face, only for a moment but she’d been watching closely enough to catch it. It made his words sound less petulant and more aggravated as he said, “…of course, Your Highness. But I implore, Madam Fontleroy?”

“Viscount Funk, my hands are too full for roses.” A burst of laughter escaped the seamstress as she held up pins and fabric swatches.

For a moment the nobleman appeared speechless, gaze darting from the older woman to the Hoshidonese princess then back again. Then his eyes narrowed and jaw set, almost as if he had no intention to leave. Hinoka glanced and found her retainers both standing and watching the man, hands poised near their weapons set against the wall.

“Very well, it seems I was presumptuous.” Viscount Funk took a step back, breaking the tension of the standoff. “Your Royal Highness, Madam, please excuse me while I reschedule.” Without waiting for a reply, he tucked the bouquet against his chest, bowed, then whirled back to the entryway.

Fontleroy gave another dramatic sigh. “All’s well that ends well. Shall we get back to it?”

Hinoka released the breath she’d been holding, one that felt strangely shallow, and nodded. Carefully, she turned upon the footstool mindful of how the corset kept her posture rigid, until she faced the mirrors once again.

However, the moment didn’t last long as abruptly Viscount Funk squawked, “Wait! No, no, no. Don’t just barge in-”

She then heard the bell give a discordant jangle, door to the shop slammed open, hard enough to rattle the shelves nearby. It made Hinoka look over her shoulder towards the commotion— a man of tall stature, huge girth, and shaved head stood in the entryway —that crime lord she’d found abusing Marx.

Face twisted in anger, his sunken eyes casting about the room until his gaze landed upon her. It snagged Hinoka's breath and trapped it in her throat, as Ganz shouted, “There you are, devil woman!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nohrians' prayers to the Dusk Dragon before battle were mentioned back in [Chapter 11](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4370321/chapters/15948556), since the game seemed to want Nohr’s power/magic to be darker I’d had a lot of thoughts on how this might impact their mythologies and rituals. Blood sacrifices with both animal and human can be found throughout history, and I didn’t intend to celebrate but rather highlight the dark brutality of such practices. I do hope my warnings at the start of the Chapter help those who wanted to avoid reading it in detail.
> 
> Because in AMOS!verse Nohr is currently not in an active war with another nation, I figure Marx and Leo wouldn't be carrying around the Holy Weapons 24/7. Since I headcanon any claimant to Nohr's throne much demonstrate they can wield one before they're recognized as legitimate, Hoshido has a similar practice. 
> 
> I also took some artistic license with the Holy Weapons, both in semi-sentience and the scope of their powers. While Siegfried canonically shoots some dark energy, I also thought [the power demonstrated in Marx's battle cutscene](https://youtu.be/knhsq4G7WTI?t=10s) would make sense to incorporate. Remember in [Chapter 1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4370321/chapters/9918734) how a certain prince bragged about being the "Gravity Master"? I based Leo's spell on the [recently released FEWarriors video](https://youtu.be/AFh8iQ_NKPs?t=59s), since Bynhildr being able to do more than trees helps set it apart as a Holy Tome.
> 
> Big thanks to Isangma and Pugsanity for BETAing and helping me finally get this update finished!


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